


An Eye For An Eye

by reinadefuego



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9960788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinadefuego/pseuds/reinadefuego
Summary: Luke just wanted to catch Cipher and finish what they started. The Shaws were brought in, Dom and his crew joined him, and now Luke's standing in the Toy Shop wondering just how Elizabeth Shaw won him over. Attempted murder aside, he's begun tolikeher, and that can't be a good thing for his professionalism. What's more surprising is she just might like him too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins pre-F5, then jumps to post-F8 in the next chapter with a pick-and-mix application of canon.

_**Moscow. Five years ago.** _

"Of course. We have ladies of all shapes available." She set the two look books down on the reception desk and politely smiled at the two white men in suits before turning to grab them a swipe card from a drawer behind her. Perhaps it was just well-honed instinct but something about these two Americans made her internal alarm bells ring. Aside from the fact they didn't speak a word of Russian, their pants bore wrinkles at the hip, as if something had been tucked under the waistband, and the collars of their shirts weren't folded properly. "Gentlemen, feel free to peruse while I confirm your room is available."

Chato returned the smile then picked up the two books and moved towards the row of couches against the wall. When the receptionist was far enough down the hallway to be out of earshot, he leant sideways and pretended to talk to Mac. "H, I think she's gonna run."

"Yeah, she's rabbiting," Hobbs responded. Sitting in a car parked in the side alley next to the brothel, he waited and listened to the live audio feed. Finally they were getting to see some action.

Fusco was already in the building, waiting inside one of the rooms. A fake Afrikaner accent — along with a wad of cash — had gotten him three hours with one of the ladies without question. She hadn't told them much but their suspicions were confirmed nonetheless: this place was a front for the Mob.

Luke stepped from his car and ditched his short black wig on the front seat before he began jogging down the alley. The private side entrance was meant for discreet dignitaries, but the staff certainly didn't seem to care. He'd seen six people already come through that door with cigarettes lit and sit on crates positioned either side of the steps. "Fusco, you get behind her. I'll get ahead to cut her off. Wilkes, maintain eyes!"

"She's heading for the stairs that go up to the second floor, Boss, you might wanna hurry." Sitting in an apartment opposite the brothel with only the neighbour's cat for company, Wilkes had little to do but stare at four large monitors. Displayed on them was live footage streaming from a set of infrared camera alongside the brothel's piggybacked internal security cameras.

Nobody could say his team with their near-perfect catch rate were anything other than precise and ruthless. Hobbs had turned chasing criminals into an art form, leaving other teams to wonder where they were going wrong. The truth of the matter was Fusco had once been an elite track and field star. So long as you could outrun the criminals and get in front of them, most of your problems were solved.

Luke pushed the side door open and rushed for the second stairwell. If they could grab her now, it would be as easy as dangling her like a lure and waiting for her brother to bite. Hobbs took the stairs two at a time, while Wilkes reported her movements in his ear as he raced to get ahead. "Mac, Chato, cover the front and back exits."

"Boss, you're almost directly above her," Wilkes said. "Wait, she just went into a room!"

"I don't know who the hell they are." Phone in her pocket and bluetooth earpiece secured, Elizabeth didn't hesitate in grabbing her backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. She got her arm through the second strap and walked back out into the corridor, rushing for the elevator at the end of it. "I just know they're the worst con artists I've ever seen."

_"Stop panicking, Elizabeth."_

"Remember who you're talking to, rooster," she spat. It was about time she got out of Russia. She was due for a holiday, a break from the mob. She'd been covering for Sarah, the real receptionist, whilst she was on sick leave.

On a regular work day, Elizabeth was in an office cooking the books and laundering money to clean it. And every so often, a couple grand in total disappeared from various accounts and wound up making its way to an offshore account in the Caymans. It was nothing that couldn't be explained by transaction and conversion fees. "We had an agreement. I burn my bridges, you keep the targets off my back."

But when the job called for it, she was in a warehouse manufacturing the bombs necessary for her brother to pull off his heists. As much as she loathed him, her attitude toward paid employment was nothing less than strictly professional. He sent her clean cash via her broker, she delivered what he needed to keep earning that cash; it was also specified he never learn of her involvement.

_"Now you really sound like your brother. How is he, by the way? I haven't—"_

She ripped the earpiece out and tossed it aside just as the elevator arrived at her floor. The doors didn't open immediately, so she pushed the button again. Nothing. _Damn it. Take the stairs._ Elizabeth swore under her breath and began walking towards the stairs. Suddenly, the elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and heavy footsteps thudded against the carpeted floor.

"Don't make me chase you, Shaw!"

A man with an American accent, and going off the sound of his footsteps, he was _big_. The five seconds she could've wasted by looking over her shoulder were instead spent breaking into a run. Elizabeth grabbed the door jamb and swung herself into the stairwell, heart beginning to pound from the adrenaline that was quickly finding its way into her bloodstream with every second that passed.

He charged for the stairs and quickly gained back the distance he'd lost, getting within five feet of her while he gave chase. She knew the building's layout better than he did, but Hobbs' standard of fitness and weekends spent playing rugby for a small Pacific Islander team back home were paying off. "Fusco, she's coming towards you!"

Fusco threw the door open and lunged just as she passed, grabbing ahold of the backpack instead of her arm. He pulled down and she immediately got her hand under the right strap and pushed it off. One arm left to slide free, he drew his pistol and aimed it at her. "Don't move!"

"Elizabeth Shaw," Luke said, approaching from behind with his revolver drawn. "You're under arrest."

She leaned forward, left knee bent as if ready to drop, then kicked out with her right foot. The fake businessman she struck in the groin; at the same time she slipped her left arm free and ran for the nearest open door. "Sorry, ladies!"

Fusco tossed the backpack aside and ran shoulder first into the closing door. Slammed it against the wall with a loud crack. Luke barged past him and into the room, only to see another door open into an adjoining room.

"Nitchka?" one of the prostitutes yelled from their position on the bed.

"I promise I'll call you, Sofya!"

"Shaw, don't make this any harder than it has to be. Your brother's in some deep shit, you're both on terrorism charges, and you just assaulted a federal agent."

 _Oh crap, they bricked it up._ Back pressed against the wall behind the other door, she slowly sank to the floor and reached for the switchblade in her pocket. There should've been a third door leading into an office that connected to a private corridor to allow travel between the brothel and the building next door. There wasn't.

Elizabeth flicked her knife open and clutched it, her breathing shallow so as to not be noticed. The only light came from the gap in the doorway, revealing an exceedingly tall man with brown skin dressed in body armour, and what looked like a tatau on his left arm.

"Assume she's got a knife, boss," Wilkes' voice came through clearly amidst the natural interference from the building itself. "She's on the floor three feet away."

The sound of the door slamming shut distracted her while Hobbs reached down and grabbed her right arm, twisting it behind her back. Switchblade still clutched in her hand, she was pulled to her feet and his grip on her wrist tightened. Elizabeth lifted one leg to push off the wall and received a knee to the tailbone for her troubles.

"Like I said." Hobbs detached his cuffs from his belt and secured one bracelet tightly around her right wrist. She refused to let the knife go, so he dislocated her thumb. The switchblade dropped to the floor and Luke kicked it away. A smug smile on his face said it all: one down, one to go. "You're under arrest on conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism, money laundering, falsification of documents, and being a pain in my ass."

 _"If you're ever arrested, say nothing. You keep your mouth closed and call me, then wait for me to come. You may not like it, little wolf, but the world is cruel and untrustworthy. Men will try to use you and then kill you when your back is turned. Always be ready for that."_ Her father's words replayed in her head as she was tugged towards the door, her spine and arm screaming with pain each time she tried to turn around. The charges made no sense. Money laundering and forgery, sure, but terrorism? She was no terrorist. She couldn't even kill someone without it leaving a scar on her psyche.

"Next time, I won't be so gentle." Luke cuffed her other wrist behind her back then pushed her thumb back into place. He kept a firm grip on her shoulder and walked her out, unaware of the still active phone in her pocket.

"Boss, I don't like this. We've got sirens out here and they're getting louder," Wilkes said. "Someone got the cops' attention. We need to go. Now."

"Boys, let's go. Mac, get the car ready. Wilkes, pack it up."

"You know this is gonna piss off the Russians, right, H?" Chato said, an amused tone to his voice.

"Well," Luke said, guiding Shaw towards the elevator. She stepped in first without a word and he pushed the button for the ground floor. "It'll only piss the Russians off if they find out, and I can't imagine they feel particularly friendly towards Miss Shaw here anyway. A nice trip to Cuba should help her realise her options."

 _He has nothing on you. There's no evidence. All you packed was a passport, clothes, and some cash. Rooster, I hope you're hearing this._ Elizabeth groaned and let her legs give out, sending herself into a sideways fall. The fed gripped her wrist at the last minute and stopped her from hitting the ground completely, leaving her to dangle just above the elevator floor.

"I don't feel too good," Elizabeth groaned. She lowered her head so her chin was touching her chest and continued to speak. "I need an apple, or something. My blood sugar—"

The phone in her pocket suddenly vibrated in two quick bursts then fell silent. Message received. The word 'apple' in any context was code for 'burn this bridge'. Cut ties and let her take the fall. The important part of her agreement with Cipher — Owen's employer — was that if worst came to worst, Elizabeth would be the one who shouldered the burden.

Eventually they'd pull strings and free her, Cipher said. Truthfully, prison wasn't so bad. She'd already spent three years of her life in a cell for killing someone. It was only to appease the prosecution's lawyer, as well as the family of the 'victim.' Both still believed her to be in prison to this day; but in comparison to that, this would be a cakewalk.

"You can eat in the car." The elevator opened onto the ground floor and Luke lifted her to her feet. "I'm not carrying you, Shaw."

Elizabeth staggered out, turning when he made it clear she was to go left. The alley exit was open and a large sleek black limousine awaited them with its door open.

"Get in." Hobbs dug his fingers into a gap in her collarbone and increased the pressure till she jerked forward. She stepped in and slid across the seat and Hobbs did the same seconds after. The door was shut behind them and Fusco positioned himself by the driver's window. A granola bar was promptly shoved into Elizabeth's hands.

"Give me a minute and I'll be out front."

"Copy that, Wilkes. Mac, circle the block," Luke said as Fusco tossed him his wig. He slid it on and adjusted it, ignoring a snort of derision from Shaw.

"You look like a rooster," Elizabeth muttered in Russian. She grunted when the wig-tosser clipped her seatbelt into place, leaving her hands to rest against her stomach. Wig-tosser pulled the phone from her pocket and handed it to Luke. The faint smell of burnt circuitry permeated the air as he unfolded the flip phone and held it out.

"You always carry around a broken phone?" Luke queried, eyeing the burnt screen. Scorch marks ringed the screen and the buttons were partly melted. How she'd had that in her pocket without feeling the heat was beyond him.

She shrugged. That explained the sudden heat against her leg while she'd been on the floor of the elevator, and the burning pain. The woman who'd somehow gotten Owen to expose just how corrupt he truly was must've overclocked the phone to destroy it. Ironically, Elizabeth had never concerned herself with the woman's true intentions till now. "It's my lucky charm, if you have to know."

Chato scoffed. "Lucky charms don't work. Been eating them my whole life and nothing's happened."

"Your lucky break was getting on the team," Luke said, watching as two police cars and an ambulance fought through traffic to get down the street and continue past the brothel. "Let's go. Call the plane, tell 'em we're diverting to Cuba before we go home."

"Nice suit, Dub," Mac called from the front seat as they pulled around the front of the apartment building. Wilkes quickly walked down the front steps dragging a suitcase then climbed into the back of the limousine with Luke and the others, leaving Mac to get out and heft the large case into the trunk.

"Any flags on Toretto?" Luke queried.

Wilkes shook his head. "Not yet."

"Alright. He's gotta stick his head out from under that rock sometime. Keep talking to border patrol."

"I'm not going to Cuba," Elizabeth spoke up once the limo began moving again. She leaned forward and glared at Hobbs. "I've done nothing wrong. I am not going to Gitmo, or any damn prison. You want to drop me down a hole, you better make sure I can't crawl out of it else I'll be coming for you."

"Oh don't you worry about that, Princess. The hole I'm dropping you down, even Sadako couldn't crawl outta it." Luke gestured to Fusco who promptly slid a box out from under his seat. He reached down and opened it then tossed a small evidence bag onto Shaw's lap. "Recognise it? We found your print on the hinge. Oh yeah, we know all about your family. Your brother used that bomb to kill a foreign diplomat."

"You're a terrible liar, Agent—"

"Hobbs. So tell me, how do you go from killing in self-defense to making bombs for terrorists?"

"Owen's not a terrorist, he's a soldier and a car thief! He doesn't kill diplomats."

The look in her eyes belied her dismissive tone. It told him she was beginning to doubt herself, her brother; possibly everything. Luke pulled a file from the box and opened it. On the right page were photos of car wrecks and bodies trapped within them. On the left, a photo of Owen Shaw at a distance, armed with a pistol and dressed head to toe in black. At his feet, a man knelt as though begging for his life.

"That's got nothing to do with me. You wanna lock anyone away, lock him up."

"Your bombs make you an accessory." Hobbs raised his voice and turned the page. More wreckages, more bodies. Men in military uniforms dead. Maybe this would get her talking. "He doesn't care who dies, only that he gets what he wants. Tell me how to find him and I'll stop him. Your brother went rogue. Their blood is on your hands!"

"I don't know where he is! We haven't talked face to face in years."

"Then who's your intermediary?"

"Boss, Toretto's face just pinged a camera in Brazil," Wilkes said, holding up his phone. "We've got him."

Elizabeth sank into the leather car seat and stared at her cuffs, focusing on them to tune out Hobbs' voice. She couldn't trust him, Owen, or that bitch on the other end of the phone.

In the beginning, she and Deckard had both told Owen not to do it. Said regardless of the payout it wasn't worth handing over a built Nightshade device. Not if it could lead to so much death and destruction.

After several days of having Deckard on her side, Owen disappeared. _He made his choices. So did you, but you didn't kill those men. That blood is on him._ And by causing enough trouble to attract his employer's attention, she'd been given a chance to make a deal of her own. There was one condition: when it was over, she walked away and took Owen with her. "Why don't you ask my brother?"

To hell with niceties. Luke grabbed the chain of her cuffs and hauled her forward. "Tell me who you're working for, Shaw, or you can say goodbye to your life. All it takes is one photo and the Russians will send a death squad to hunt you down within hours."

"Goodbye, life," she said, staring at the window behind him. "You can threaten me or kiss my arse for as long as you think it'll work, Agent Hobbs, but nothing will get me to flip on my brother. I don't betray my family."

Luke pushed her back against the seat and released his grip on her cuffs. "Enjoy Cuba, I hear the weather's miserable."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Los Angeles. Present day._ **

"Say 'hi, Papa'," Elena said, waving Marcus' hand gently. She'd sat him on her hip till he finally stopped fussing and decided he liked the view. With Dom back from a trip to Greece, she'd taken it upon herself to give him every chance to spend quality time with his son. So far, Marcus was loving it.

Already just weeks short of properly walking without assistance, Marcus was getting into all kinds of mischief. He'd climbed his way into a kitchen cupboard without Mia noticing and closed it on himself, leaving them in a panic till Brian pointed out the pant leg hanging beneath the door.

Dom's chest swelled at the sight of him. Though it'd been less than two days since they last saw each other, Dom swore he'd grown half an inch and gained three pounds. Parading his son around on his shoulders would have to wait till later once Brian and Mia arrived with Jack and Sophie. "Hey, Marcus, you wanna come watch Daddy and Letty fix his car?"

"Papa!" Marcus stretched his arms out, straining as if to jump between their arms. Elena lifted him forward and Dom swept him up, allowing Marcus to start tugging on Dom's silver crucifix necklace. "Papa, car!"

There was no way to ever truly make up for lost time, but seeing Dom like this eased her fears; and seeing Letty with Marcus was even more reassuring. Elena slid a blue bag off her shoulder and handed it to Dom as well. "Hobbs has taken another trip down south, and I've got to cover his shift. Can you look after him for the weekend?"

"Elena, he's our _son_. I didn't let either of you die on that plane and I won't let any harm come to the both of you now." Dom squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and smiled, even as Marcus decided to start poking him in the side of the neck. Seeing her in Cipher's photo, her clutching Marcus while Rhodes stood to the side with a gun to her head, had angered him at first. It wasn't just the threat to her life, or the threat to the baby; nor was it Cipher's gall to walk up to him and blackmail him into betraying his family. Elena had fallen pregnant and never told him, but after the first few days of playing the events of the past few years over in his head and wondering how all of this happened, he calmed down. Letty had returned to his life so suddenly, ending the hollow pain he'd been feeling, and Elena had walked away without so much as hearing a thank you from him.

A thank you for being there, for being the first person in a long time to completely understand his pain; for giving him someone to talk to who shared the unfortunate experience of losing the most important person in their world; and for not trying to force him into being someone he wasn't. Her words still echoed in his mind sometimes, and God help him, Dom wished he could've returned the favour. _If that was my husband,_ Elena had said that morning, staring at the photo of Letty, _if there was a chance._

"I packed plenty of diapers, formula," Elena said, gesturing to the bag, "he's been getting diaper rash lately, so his legs might still be sore."

He nodded and switched Marcus to his left arm then stepped forward and hugged her. "Promise me you won't go jumping out of any buildings today. Hey, Letty, guess who's helping build the car!"

Elena waved as Letty walked out of the garage. Things had begun as awkward between them when Letty first watched her and Marcus with Dom, till they talked it out. She'd been officially dead for months and Dom was alone, still grappling with how to survive now that his heart's burning flame was extinguished. It didn't take an idiot to see Dom was better for the experiences, regardless of how strange Letty felt being around Dom when Elena and Marcus were also.

"How's he been at night?" Letty said, grabbing a tyre off the stack. Hair tied back in a bun and gloves still on, she looked every part the badass mechanic momma she'd begun to feel like. With Brian and Mia running the cafe, their life was stabilising once more. "Last week he wouldn't settle at night."

"He's started teething again, so he's grumpy come the afternoons." Elena waved to Marcus and said her goodbyes before heading for her car parked out front. She'd left a note in the bag for Dom, telling him exactly where Hobbs had gone in case things went south. Everybody at the DSS loved to act as if he could cover his own ass without issue on hunts, but she knew better than most. Losing his team in Brazil had left Luke vulnerable, and Hicks' following betrayal had only buried a protective instinct to mistrust further inside him. Whatever happened, Elena hoped Dom would have his back when the storm began again.

* * *

"And I'm telling you, you can't sell woof tickets to people with experience, kid," Luke said. He closed his eyes and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, trying to rid himself of the sticky feeling. A dark stain had already formed along the front of his tank and over his ribs. The humidity he could deal with, being stuck in a car with Eric on the other hand was starting to try his patience. "You don't walk up to someone in a prison and play ball like that, or have you forgotten the last time you tried that tactic?"

He hadn't forgotten being planked against a brick wall, he merely chose not to bring it up. Hobbs had six inches and about ninety pounds on him — it was somewhat unfair to compare that mildly traumatising experience to this venture. Little Nobody crossed his arms and stared out the front windshield as they followed the highway down towards the western landing point. The ferry would be waiting for them at the docks, and from there they'd make their way across the bay. "My bargaining chip is going to work, Hobbs. Give me twenty minutes and we'll be on our way."

"This is gonna be embarrassing. Fine, twenty minutes, then I go in."

"One question," Mr. Nobody spoke up from the front passenger seat. "Did you call to confirm your target is still down there, Eric?"

Luke said nothing. He'd made a call weeks ago and learnt of a lawyer's intervention two and a half years ago. According to Ramsey, the target now lived somewhere in Santa Clara.

"It's Gitmo, the most secure prison in the world," Little Nobody said, gesturing to the distant bay. _At least I think it is. God, I screwed up bad._ "You can't escape from there, it's an island surrounded by water."

"So was Alcatraz, but you can walk out of there if you have connections and a lawyer." Luke stretched his arms out and smiled to himself. If 'Little Nobody' didn't start thinking ahead, that fresh baby shit smell was going to linger for a while. "Might wanna call for a plane, Junior, or would you prefer a three hundred and forty mile drive?"

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"Oh don't get your panties in a knot," Mr. Nobody said, glancing over his shoulder. The look on Eric's face said he wasn't impressed, and the smirk on Luke's said their wake-up call had worked like a charm. It'd been nothing shot of a miracle Eric realised there were no rules come New York. "I told you we wouldn't be taking our time. A plane will be ready and waiting once we cross the bay. We'll be landing at a private airfield in Santa Clara; you'll have your chance then, kid."

He sat up and focused on the folder wedged between the gearstick and Mr. Nobody's seat. It'd been sitting there the entire trip, staring him in the face. Knowing what his boss's attitude was towards privacy, Eric had left it alone. Now he wondered if that was the file on their target, or simply another red herring. "Santa Clara? The target stayed in Cuba?"

Hobbs shook his head in disbelief. Why had Nobody entertained this kid for so long? He was clearly out of his depth yet insisted he had a single clue as to how life played out. His stupidity had nearly gotten them killed last time. Rushing headfirst into a fight with Toretto, Luke had almost smacked him upside the head afterwards for screwing up and opening that exit. "Do you even know who we came here to pick up?"

"Mr. Nobody said get in the car, I got in the car. He said bring your best sales pitch, I brought it. Who's the target?"

"The usual criminal type." Luke snatched up the file and dumped it in Eric's lap. Having to work with goddamn newbies after all these years made him wish he'd just taken Toretto down that day in Brazil, wrench or no wrench, and gotten out with his own team alive. If Fusco, Wilkes, Mac, and Chato, had been here, he would've already had his target in cuffs again and been having tea and crumpets in celebration.

Reisner didn't talk to him for the rest of the trip, allowing Luke a comfortable silence. He watched Eric's face transition from curiosity to concern then outright unease and worry as he read the file in the car. Each time he flicked back to the first page, Luke heard him mutter something that sounded like 'this wasn't in his file.'

No, it wasn't. He'd dug through all those files looking for Owen Shaw the first time, only coming across a small note from the late eighties by chance. It'd been shoved in with a pile of loose papers down the bottom, easy to miss if you weren't willing to individually read each sheet. After checking the holes, Luke found the police report it belonged to.

Filed only as a complaint with no charges laid, it detailed how Nikolai Dmitrovich — the owner of a corner shop near the Shaw family's council estate home — had suffered a spate of small thefts. Mostly just food off the shelf, a camera; nothing worth much, till the thieves decided to up their game. The last straw for Dmitrovich was the cash register itself at midnight, albeit with an empty tray.

The note itself read: _DI Hedgeway translated for the sister after she claimed she didn't speak English. Owen denied they're related and called her the whore's child. She says he's been getting involved with the St. Thomas gang._

"How'd we miss this?" Eric said, stepping from the car with his nose still in the file. He glanced up to align himself with Nobody's footsteps and kept walking in the direction of the plane that awaited them. "I did my research: Deckard Shaw's military file lists a deceased father, unknown mother, and a brother. Owen's reflects that."

"Read it again, you'll find your answer." Luke took the flight stairs two at a time and proceeded to quickly find a seat by the window. He'd dropped her off that day without a word, leaving it to Chato to walk her into the facility. How the lawyer had figured out where she was was anyone's guess, but sure enough one of Chato's buddies said a woman turned up one day, made a phone call while standing in the entrance foyer, and Shaw was released within half an hour.

"I've read it twice, Hobbs."

"She's not on government documents because she wasn't born in the UK, kid," Mr. Nobody said, ending Hobbs' guessing game. For all Eric's improvements over the past few months, he still had a few things to learn that'd only come with experience and time. "God's Eye and Toretto are the best chance we have of taking the Shaws and Cipher down."

Luke feigned disinterest as Mr. Nobody went into the details of the planned op. Deckard had chosen to go completely underground, along with Owen. A deal had been struck and so far it was being kept to, aside from their monitoring of the Shaws. Luke couldn't help but feel that screwing Deckard over now would only go against them if his services were required for Cipher's removal from the planet. The longer it took to find her, the more certain he became that Deckard _would_ be that necessary of evils.

* * *

"Everything alright, love?"

She glanced over her shoulder then went back to focusing on beating the egg whites. Her right bicep and shoulder ached from the constant circular motion but Elizabeth persisted, choosing to vent through food rather than punch a wall. No, everything wasn't alright; hadn't the old woman noticed the growing pile of baked goods taking over her dining table? There were plates of blini, chak-chak, warm granola bars, bowls of dips, among other things, and now she was in the midst of finishing the zapakanka batter before the cake went in the oven.

"I can still feel my fucking stomach dropping."

One minute she was in South America sleeping with a book on her face, the next there were men in suits hauling her out of bed and throwing her bags at her. She was scheduled to fly to England, they said, at the behest of one Magdalene Shaw. She hadn't heard that name in over seventeen years. Not the type to reject such a . . . well phrased invitation for tea, Elizabeth went with them. The plane ride itself could be summed up as one thing: a hellish nightmare.

"Have a blini," Magdalene said, picking one up and dipping it in a chives and sour cream mix. She'd offered to break out her own biceps, or an electric beater, but Elizabeth refused and said her whisking ability was great. Her folding technique, Magdalene noted to much inner amusement, needed improving. "Your mum teach you to cook?"

"No, a nice old lady named Marya. Mum —" she tipped the batter into the greased and crumb-lined pan, evened it out, and shoved it in the oven "— Mum died the week Dad flew me here. He never told you?"

"I didn't want to know," Magdalene said. She'd called her sons twice, telling them to get their arses over there and be quick about it. The sooner they arrived, the sooner she could get down to business. "Would've killed him that night if he hadn't said you was only six. It's what I got for thinking he'd be capable of keeping his pants on after the first time."

"You wanna tell me why I'm here? I never had nothing to do with you or them after I moved back home. Didn't want to." Till Deckard called out of the blue and told her about Cipher, convinced her to try and be a 'good sister' and protect Owen; because that always turned out really well. "Still don't."

"They're your brothers, Lizzy, you ain't got much of a choice, and this family takes care of its own."

She snorted and muttered 'course they do', earning a whack to the shoulder with a solid wooden spoon. Elizabeth ignored the momentary pain, along with the kiss on the cheek that followed. What, did she just expect them to see each other and play happy family? Smile and pose for the Christmas photo that'd wind up on the mantle place.

Magdalene patted her on the shoulder reassuringly and said, "I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Makes it feel like we're all living together again."

 _Your goons put a gun to my face and forced me out of my home_ , she thought, stacking the dirty bowls in the sink and washing her hands before she walked out to the living room. _Ain't got much of a choice is right._

The doorbell rang a few minutes later but she ignored it, opting to sit on the couch cross-legged and rest her head on the arm of it. She could still feel the nausea creeping up on her, the stomach acid stinging her throat serving as a reminder there was a completely valid reason her feet usually remained on the ground. "Mags, who is it?"

"Just me." He walked into the living room and dropped down on the couch next to her. Hair cut short back and sides as was military standard, he looked every bit the soldier she imagined he'd once been. His eyes betrayed nothing, not even the surprise he felt at seeing his sister. "It's nice to see you, I guess."

"Sod off, Owen."

"You on your —"

Before he could finish his sentence, she punched him in the arm and got to her feet. "Act your age, not your shoe size. Where's Deckard?"

"He's on his way."

Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief and immediately retreated to the kitchen. Deckard would be in his old role of peace keeper for as long as it took _their_ mother to cut to the chase and stop messing about. Whatever the true reason for their gathering, it'd be down to her eldest brother once more to stop them from killing each other. As nice as it probably was for Magdalene, she had no interest in being part of some bullshit happy family illusion.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mia," Marcus shrieked, clapping his hands and wriggling to break free of Dom's arms as she and Brian walked up the driveway. He waved his arms and shouted Jack and Sophie's names, stumbling towards them once he was finally let down. Marcus pointed towards the garage and grinned. "Car!"

"Sophie, be nice to Marcus," Mia said, recognising the look of mischief on her daughter's face. It'd been Marcus who'd climbed into the pantry that day, but Sophie was the ringleader who told him to do it. "No biting."

"She's biting again?" Dom said warily, watching as the three kids walked towards the garage where Letty would be stretched out on a creeper, working on the rear axle. Baby bag on his shoulder, he was yet to go through everything and see whether Elena had packed Marcus's blue American muscle outfit. There was also the matter of the small Union Jack boxing gloves Deckard had bought him, and his surprising attachment to them.

"It happened once," Brian explained, sitting down on the back step that led to the kitchen. Dom wasn't getting much sleep lately, according to Letty, and she wasn't sure if she was just imagining it but he was also having the occasional nightmare. Whatever'd happened up on that plane left a scar on Dom's psyche. "Momma's just being cautious. Hey Dom, you wanna show me the new paint job?"

"It's upstairs." Dom could've sworn he'd already sent Brian a photo after its completion, but photos could never live up to the real thing. "Mia, tell Letty —"

Mia smiled and gestured for them to go inside. "Marcus will be fine, Dom."

He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Every time he saw Marcus and Elena, he wondered how long it would be before they were ripped out of his life and trapped in a glass box again. Dom wiped the sweat from his forehead and led Brian upstairs to the small room he and Letty had converted into Marcus's bedroom and play area. On the wall next to his cot was a painting of Race Wars: flags, cars, cheering girls, smoking tyres, the whole quarter mile.

"You did a great job, man," Brian said, amazed by the detail. His fingers grazed over the Dodge in all its beauty, and what looked like a miniature Dom in the driver's seat. "Whose idea was it?

"Nah, Letty did most of it. I only took care of the undercoat and waterproofing, and Letty's actually. I was thinking one big car so when he sits up in bed, he looks like he's driving, but she thought Race Wars would be better."

Brian nodded and stepped back, chuckling when he saw a pair of toddler-size boxing gloves hanging over the cot. If Dom had told him two years ago that he'd find himself being amicable with the bastard who'd killed Han and blown the Toretto home up, Brian probably would've tried to knock some sense into him. No one had seen Shaw since that barbeque, leaving him glad the situation was seemingly resolved. It also meant there'd be no clash over Dom's not killing him when he had the chance.

Dom covered his yawn and blinked away the physical and mental exhaustion he felt, opting to sit on a large chair he'd bought for when Marcus got fussy and refused to sleep. "How was the DR?"

"It's nice. Not as nice as here, but Jack likes the beach so we got him swimming lessons. You should really get some sleep, Dom, you look like you're about to pass out."

He nodded, sitting the bag on his lap and unzipping it so as to start sorting through Marcus's stuff. A strong cup of coffee would have to wait till they were downstairs. Stretching out on the couch and letting his sore legs relax would've been nice too if not for his son's presence. "I've been working on the car a lot, trying to fix it up so we can install a baby seat in the back and take Marcus down to Race Wars. Hector says it's not the same without us, and he wants to meet Marcus. Everyone does."

"Is that all?"

Seeing the look of concern on Brian's face, Dom sighed and shook his head. Talking about his feelings had never been his strong suit. He wasn't interested in therapy or counselling, only in continuing his life, focusing on the future, while simultaneously accepting the past and putting it all behind him. "I keep dreaming about it. About Elena, and Cipher. She nearly — they nearly died because of me. Gisele and Han both died because I needed their help . . . and my son would've died just so Cipher could spite me. How do I live with that, Brian?"

Brian clenched his fists and kept them by his sides, focusing on verbally knocking some sense into Dom rather than physically. The look on his face was one of raw anger, jaw set and teeth grit. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, and an ache was beginning to form in his chest at the mere idea that Dom could blame himself for what'd happened. "Dom, none of that is your fault! Their deaths aren't on you. Gisele? She died because Hobbs couldn't do his job properly. Han was _murdered_ so that piece of shit could send a message, and he nearly killed all of us too, you included. None of this will ever be your fault."

"I dreamt she killed Marcus last night," Dom admitted. It was a horrible dream that never seemed to quite go away. Its unwanted return in his mind had left him waking up with a foul taste in his mouth and shaky hands. Luckily, Letty slept through them all. He'd dreamt it three times now, and being able to recall specific details only made him hurt that much more. "Cipher said if I killed her, her men would storm the room and kill Marcus. I dream I never have enough bullets to stop them all."

"But you did, Dom, you stopped Rhodes."

* * *

They finally landed in Santa Clara after two hours. From there, it was just a matter of driving till they reached Santa Catalina ward and an old sandstone building. Perhaps it was just luck, but the manager of the building intercepted Luke before he could get either a word in edgewise or into the apartment itself, asking for a key deposit and four weeks in advance if they wanted to move in. Eventually, he got the conversation to turn, allowing Little Nobody to step up to the plate.

"Men in suits," Eric said in English so Hobbs and Nobody could follow along, nodding as the manager continued in Spanish what sounded like a story he'd just made up on the spot. "And you saw them take her out? Can you describe her?"

Hobbs handed over a fifty dollar bill to loosen the guy's lips without hesitation. The woman was average height, dark brown hair, white and didn't tan very well; she'd been living there two years paying rent every two weeks, fixing radios and lamps for spare change. The men themselves — of which there were six — sounded British, and had called her by a name the manager didn't recognise: Shaw.

"What the hell does this mean?" Eric said, after paying the manager to let them inside the apartment. It was small, with a sofa bed shoved against one wall and a kitchen window that looked out onto the street. From the sink, he could see their car parked below. A single chair and table sat in the centre of the room, with a small toolbox beneath it. "You think Cipher found her first?"

"Could be her brothers decided to come collect her," Mr. Nobody said, opening cupboard doors to find a bag of unlabelled grains along with four tins with the labels torn off. He felt blindly along the inside wall of the cupboard and the top, till he touched something plastic and began working it free of the tape holding it against the wall. "Found one of her stashes."

 _Loose floorboard,_ Luke realised as one creaked under his weight while he walked towards the bathroom. He pushed down slightly with his toes and the opposite end of it lifted, allowing him to get his fingers in the gap and remove the timber. _Manager says it's her, but why do I feel like this is a setup? You don't get out of prison then stay in the country unless you're stupid . . . or you've been meeting someone. That private airfield's only two hour's drive away._

Luke tossed his phone to Little Nobody before reaching down into the gap beneath the floorboards. "Call Ramsey, tell her to pull up any and all security cameras in the country and filter for Cipher's face."

"You think the target's working with Cipher?" Eric queried. If they were, this was going to be one awkward Jerry Springer-esque reunion once they brought them all in.

" _Someone_ had to pull strings to free her. Tell Ramsey to track the Shaw brothers too, I don't want them sneezing without us knowing if they wipe it on their sleeve."

Luke reached further along before his fingers brushed the handle of a lockbox. Finally something solid. It didn't feel too heavy, he noted, and caught it with one finger to drag it forward, allowing him to get a better grip and lift it out. Sweat gathered on the tip of his nose then dripped down onto his bottom lip while his heart began to pound in anticipation. With no padlock securing it, he cracked the box open and lifted a blanket off the top. Thank God. Hobbs let out a sigh of relief when he found only a pile of tools, three bundles of cash, and no bombs in sight.

"You could also send in a tactical squad before they have a chance to run. They have skills we could use, Luke. If Elizabeth is in contact with Cipher, it's simply a matter of pushing her till she breaks."

"That only works if you grab all three at once." Owen Shaw was two steps short of being a full-blown psychopath, not to mention the complete opposite of someone he'd ever want to work with. Deckard's Victoria Cross recommendation showed him to at least possess a streak of decency and courage, and yet to no one's surprise it didn't erase the recent past. "Shaw has to be in contact with her. There's no way she'd get this kind of money without help."

"It'll only take a phone call," Mr. Nobody said, reaching into his pocket for his cell. "We need a better lead than some possible sightings."

"You never did fix that mirror," Eric said, a smug grin on his face. "I think you owe it to Shaw to at least help him repair that car.

They had a point about better leads. The car, not so much. Hobbs would never regret pushing that sumbitch's buttons. Nor was it as simple as pushing her till she broke. He'd tried that already. "Make the call, but Owen gets put in a cell immediately. He's not to be anywhere near the other two, and after it's done, they land in the cells next to him."

* * *

_Cipher corrupted him and left him for dead. So, if I get a shot to take her down, believe me, Flex, I'm taking it._ They were words Deckard was going to live by if he had his chance, and God help him, he'd be the one to do it. As he pulled into the driveway, he ignored his buzzing phone on the dash and the word 'Mum' displayed on the screen. Bloody hell, how many times was she going to call? It'd taken him two hours just to drive down from his apartment up north, and another forty minutes just to navigate traffic and get to her house.

"Next time you don't pick up that phone, we'll be having words, Deckard Nicholas," Magdalene said, walking up to his car. To no surprise, it was an old camo-green Defender. He'd bought it for two thousand pounds in the mid nineties and proceeded to restore it to its former glory. "I see you're still driving this thing around."

"It's reliable." He parked it and stepped out, tugging his jacket down to conceal the pistol strapped to the small of his back. With the sky dark and half the street lights out, odds were no one would see it. Still, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. Most situations never called for it, but subconsciously he was relieved to be armed. Sometimes a bullet could make all the difference. Deckard smiled and moved to hug her, feigning ignorance of the curtains shifting in the window and the shadow cast against them. Of course they were being watched. "It's good to see you, Mum," he said finally. "Is Owen here yet?."

"He's inside." She hadn't told him about the third member of their little search party. No, that — that would be a surprise. It'd been hard enough tracking their sister down, relying only on interpersonal connections and phone calls, but once the net closed around her the task was reduced to a simple snatch and grab. "Just watch out, he's in one of his moods."

Deckard huffed. Owen was always in one of his moods. If he wasn't pissed about the Toretto deal, he was getting in their faces about not killing him and cleaning up the mess. What could he say? Hearing the effect his so-called death had on Hobbs, well that changed a few things. He'd never imagined Hobbs would punch a steel door, nor that he'd dent it. Getting Deckard to admit he liked the man would take a miracle in and of itself; respecting Luke, on the other hand, was a given.

Inside, Owen frowned, one hand braced against the wall and the other parting the curtains while he watched for any other arrivals. Why him? As much as they fought, he'd hoped it would just be them. Deckard was always the third wheel in these situations and it showed. He looked over his shoulder, checking she hadn't bolted while no one was looking. Owen wouldn't blame her if she had. Their mother _was_ quite a handful. "Deck's here."

Elizabeth glanced up then went back to staring at the rug beneath her feet. This entire farce was turning out to be more awkward than expected. First Owen, now Deckard, and their mother — what was she even doing here? Family reunions didn't usually involve this much tension, or so she'd been led to believe. "What happened to your face?"

Mum hadn't told her already? He sighed and said, "I was thrown from a crashing plane and hit by burning fuselage. I ended up in a coma."

She'd hoped it was a lie, that Cipher had just been trying to make her feel better about her so-called stupid choices, but that was his cold hard truth tone of voice, and the way he clenched his jaw said it all. For all her attempts at covering his arse, he'd nearly lost his life. Elizabeth cringed and tried to suppress the sudden feeling of heaviness forming in her chest. She knew it was plenty capable of pushing her into a guilt-ridden tunnel, but that relied on her feeling guilt in the first place.

"What about you?" he said, moving away from the window. She was wringing her shirt in her hands, the steaming mug on the coffee table in front of her untouched. Owen lifted it and gestured. She responded with a shrug and he took a sip, savouring the taste of freshly pressed coffee. This was the real stuff, not that cheap swill people drank. "Last I remember you lived in Moscow."

"I got swept up in problems that weren't mine and sent to prison again." She didn't want to play the blame game, nor dump all her issues in his lap. It was partially his fault for getting involved with Cipher in the first place, and the rest lay with her for caring enough to get involved in things that didn't directly affect her. "Eventually strings were pulled and I was released, but I'm never getting those eighteen months back."

"Why?" Deckard said, walking into the living room and taking a seat. Jacket folded over his arm, his black AC/DC tank exposed a small mass of scar tissue on his sternum. The look on her face was one of irritation, but Owen's repeated clenching and unclenching of his fists didn't bode well. "Why'd you have to go and stick your nose in? I thought we taught you better."

"Does it matter?" Owen snapped, glaring daggers at Deckard. Of course he'd take the high road. Their brother would never admit to being wrong, or that he didn't know everything. Deckard was the one who'd joined the ranks of the elite within the SAS, and his ego grew alongside the chevrons on his shoulder. "Not everything's a life lesson."

"Because you asked me to." Elizabeth stood and took a step towards Deckard, ignoring the way he sat forward. Whether he was armed or not, it'd make no difference. She'd still try to tear him a new one, and he'd hiptoss her into the floor. "Or don't you remember making Owen's business mine? You're the one who approached me to help you convince him to walk away."

"Huh. That's not the way I remember it," Deckard said, feigning confusion. He noticed the look on Magdalene's face and scowled. Why couldn't Beth just shut her mouth? Sibling business had nothing to do with their mother. "You sure all that time in prison hasn't messed with your head?"

"You want to gaslight me?" she said, taking up position in front of him. She leaned down and rested her hands on the couch either side of his head. There was a fire in her eyes that said she wasn't messing around, nor was she afraid of him and his skill set. "Go ahead, try it. I'll bury you like I did Dmitri. That son of a bitch got his due, and so will you."

"Lizzy, sit your arse down. Now that's enough out of the lot of you." Magdalene said. "Two of you couldn't take Cipher down, perhaps three of you can. That's why you're here. The Americans think she's in Greece."

"Good luck with that, Mum. Two of us already had part of our lives stolen 'cause of her." He gave Elizabeth a knowing look but said nothing. The idea that she could slip anything by him was laughable, but he'd give her credit: she'd taken it in her stride and never hesitated in protecting him. "If Deckard wants to go after her, he's more than welcome, but don't count me in."

Magdalene chuckled. She'd expected at least one of them to rebel. It being Owen was a surprise, yet not. As he'd said, part of his life — their lives? — had been wasted because of Cipher. "Did it sound like I was giving any of you a choice?"

"See you 'round, Mrs. Shaw." Elizabeth pushed off the couch and walked towards the door, never allowing her anger to waiver. Deckard knew she remembered most things exactly as they happened. Suggesting prison had messed with her head? He was practically begging for a flogging. "Thanks for the free ride."

"We're not finished here, Elizabeth. Take a seat, or have a piece of cake. I'll wait till you return to your senses."

"No, I think we are. You want to take down Cipher? Deckard can do it on his own." The sooner she was out the door, the better. "I'm not your daughter, I'm Mikhail's, and your crocodile tears don't work on me."

Owen looked between the two, mostly focused on the tension in Elizabeth's spine. His mother was keeping her cards close to her chest, playing it cool and straight-faced like always. Deckard had once told him that she could sell the Pope a whole new spin on doctrine. He didn't doubt it. Beth, on the other hand, could sell her soul to the Devil and not think twice if she deemed it necessary.

"Alright then, I'll have the boys drop you off at Gitmo. You _are_ a terrorist after all who should've remained locked up." Magdalene smiled, waiting for the one-sided yelling match to begin. She'd always known Lizzy had a temper, as did she, but the difference lay in how they dealt with it. "Seeing as you're a threat to society."

"I'm not going to let you kill someone just because you blame her for your sons' stupidity. Deckard and Owen made their choices. The repercussions are theirs to bear, not mine."

So much for a loss of control. She stood and stepped into Elizabeth's personal space, waiting for the pushback or her to lash out, but there was nothing. Since when did her stepdaughter act like such a conniving manipulative adult, like Owen? There was no outburst of anger, just a constant simmering rage right below the surface. "When did Cipher get to you? In prison? Before prison?"

"She didn't get to me."

"No one else could've pulled those strings to get you out. Certainly wasn't me."

"Get out of my face, _suka._ " The slap that followed was hard enough to rattle her brain and leave a red handprint on her face. Elizabeth flinched but didn't move, shoving her hands in her pockets and taking a breath. It hurt like hell if she was being honest. Even Cipher didn't have a swing like that. "Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

Magdalene looked between the three of them. The way Deckard was staring at his sister, it was as if he were boring holes in the back of her head. Owen leaned back, head resting on his hand, looking all too smug. What was up with him? And _her_. She kept talking about choices, something Owen had pushed throughout his years, proclaiming the behaviour of others was never his fault. He never forced anyone to do anything. He couldn't control their actions, only his own. "You sold yourself to her?"

Now she got it. Elizabeth nodded, keeping her arms by her sides. Pain still radiated through the left side of her face, and she was pretty sure that was blood oozing from her nose. It dripped onto her bottom lip, tasting of rust and salt; yep, definitely blood. "Close enough."


	4. Chapter 4

"Niño, ready for your bath?" Letty said, knocking quietly on the door jamb. She poked her head into the room and chuckled at the sight of Marcus asleep, fingers curled around the base of the silver crucifix resting against Dom's chest. It'd been a while since the noise level had dropped and she'd decided to see if her suspicions were correct. Dom was passed out too, arms wrapped around Marcus as if the very thought of letting him go had reached the point of being unbearable.

With just a couple of plates left soaking in the sink, there was little to do but sit around, relax, and watch reruns of Cops. Brian and Mia had gone home earlier than usual, the car in its last stages of restoration didn't need much more than a full tank of gas and a test run, and Dom had finished the vacuuming just before dinner.

Noticing the open baby bag on the floor, Letty grabbed it and hung it off her shoulder while she rifled through its contents, checking for any bottles that needed sterilising. Clothes, diapers and wipes, his usual toys, and —

A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Letty reached down, picked it up, and turned it over. She recognised Elena's short cursive handwriting instantly. It wasn't a love letter: Hobbs' name in the first sentence and Cipher's in the proceeding told her that much. Unless Dom had fallen for the enemy — which was highly doubtful — something was going down and Hobbs was going to need backup.

 _Dom,_  
_Hobbs has gone to Cuba with Nobody. He's looking for anyone with links to Cipher and he's one step short of finding her. If something happens, please stop him from getting himself killed. I don't think he's going to do anything stupid, just reckless . . . and I know Luke will never say it, but thank you for not letting him die in the favelas that day._  
_Elena._  
_P.S, Marcus likes the gloves more than the car._

Letty resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the postscript. It was certainly going to make Dom even more determined to convert Marcus back to being a Toretto. Five minutes with a Shaw and it was as if he already knew the lyrics to God Save The Queen.

The grumbling cry of a stirring toddler had her ready for anything as Marcus began to wake. A squeak of a fart and the smell that wafted across his bedroom said she was about to have her stamina tested. Letty lifted Marcus free from Dom's arms and carried him and the baby bag out, going straight to the bathroom where Dom had set up the changing table.

"You just had to make a mess while Dad's asleep, huh?" she said, pulling his pants away from his back slightly to reveal the state of his ruined diaper. Oh God, this was full-on bath time now. Whatever had gone through his stomach and come out the other end was now creeping up his backside as he wriggled in her arms.

By the time the bath was ready, the mess had been cleaned up and Marcus was clapping and kicking. Letty lowered him in and the splashing began, chanting 'Mom' as he slid himself around and tried to eject half the water from the bath.

After a few minutes and a proper wash, he was in a red Dodge onesie and laying in his own bed. Dom, on the other hand, was still asleep on the chair with his arms curled around thin air. Letty woke him slowly with a 'hey Papa' and a kiss on the lips.

Dom blinked through the haze of exhaustion and looked up at Letty. The biggest smile formed on his face at the sight of her and he couldn't help but reach up to check she was real. After all this pain and suffering she was still with him. His wife and lover, one of a select few important people who'd chosen to stay instead of leave. Now there was another: Marcus. "Where's —"

"Relax. I gave him a bath and put him to bed. His diaper looked like a bad batch of cake batter and smelt worse than Vince after a week without a shower."

Dom cringed at the mental image and murmured a thank you when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to his feet. Words couldn't express just how happy he'd been since finding her in London, and then Los Angeles — when her memories returned, it was as if the last few years had been wiped away. "I think it's bedtime for me too."

"Or we could go to our room and you can stay up for another hour. I've got all these wet clothes that need to come off." Letty tugged him closer and groaned at the feel of his hands sliding down her hips to her thighs. She loved his hands, those thumbs especially, and that middle and index finger: he could do wonders with those fingers, but nothing beat the feel of his hands squeezing hers while Dom used that magical mouth of his. He lifted her and carried her out of Marcus' bedroom and into theirs. "I think we should start with this shirt."

* * *

"You still want that coffee?"

"Please." Ramsey stretched her arms and closed the laptop, setting it aside before she took the offered mug from Tej's hands. As much as she hated the taste, this bitter black swill he made was keeping her wide awake. After her marathon hacking session finished, she'd sleep at midnight and wake up at six like clockwork, then return to her laptop an hour later. "It's been weeks since Cipher pinged my radar. I've accounted for everything and I still can't find her."

He slid onto the bed and stretched out next to her. They could do this, it was just going to take time that the team really couldn't afford to waste. The sooner it was all over, the sooner they could go back to living their normal lives without having to look over their shoulders. "So we change our approach. Find someone who's already _in_ contact with Cipher."

"Which would require finding her first and sniffing any and all packets then tracing them back to their source, seeing as we don't know anyone in contact with her." She'd thought of that, but it relied entirely on luck and timing. Capturing the packets before Cipher had a chance to erase them? They'd have to be on the same network as whoever she was talking to. " _If_ there are any packets left by the time she's done sweeping her trail clean."

Tej groaned. It didn't matter how many satellites they connected to, or who Hobbs called on their behalf, they were still coming up empty. He leaned over and kissed the hollow of her neck, breathing in the lingering scent of her lavender body wash. "Why can't we just go back to the simpler days of drug dealers and stealing safes?"

"Because you'd enjoy it too much." She smirked and set her coffee down on the bedside drawer. If she was being honest, it felt like he was spoiling her some days. The other morning, they'd spent five hours laying in bed and not once had she gotten up to get dressed or make herself a cup of coffee. "Breaking the law is what you do best, isn't it?"

"Oh I can think of a few things I do better than that."

* * *

While Deckard eased the engine of his Defender back into place, Owen sat back, spoon in hand and cake tin nestled between his and Elizabeth's legs. When she'd walked in with _two_ spoons instead of one, the cake tin, and a small jug of ganache, his mouth began watering immediately. Whoever thought four in the morning wasn't a perfect time for eating cake had to be a bloody puritan. Owen licked the spoon clean and smiled at Deckard who was now reconnecting everything and wiping the engine down.

"You gonna save any of that for me?"

"There's chak-chak on the kitchen bench."

Deckard scoffed and rolled his eyes. Of course there was, considering he hated it. All that honey and sugar made it too sweet for his tastes, but zapekanka? He finished reinstalling the engine and found a clean rag, wiping the sweat and grease off his hands before he climbed in the driver's seat. "I thought you baked two of those."

"I did." Overindulging couldn't hurt a fly if it only happened once a month. She would've been in her apartment in Cuba with a whole cake to herself if not for Magdalene, but sitting here next to Owen while Deckard did all the work and she had nothing to do but play tech-head? Elizabeth had forgotten how nice it was being part of a family. In so much as they could call themselves a family, it was still nice. Owen hadn't changed at all, nor Deckard; the pair hadn't gotten off her case about Cipher or Cuba for the past three hours. Owen also couldn't stop laughing about the look of sheer shock on Deckard's face when their mother had slapped Beth. "And the other one's reserved for breakfast."

"C'mon, what's wrong with you? Playing favourites again, I see." He gestured with one hand while he started the Land Rover with the other. It purred to life and the rattle that'd been plaguing him was gone. "Hand it over, and the third spoon. Yeah, I ain't blind, it's in your pocket. Pass me the bloody cake."

"It's not a spoon."

He frowned. If she was carrying a knife around in her pocket while with them — in the presence of their mother — he was going to kill her. "Then what is it?"

For pete's sake. What was it with him and double standards? So Deckard could walk around with a killer attitude and a decade plus of military experience, but she wasn't allowed a chance of defending herself? "Switchblade."

Of course it was! Maybe if she'd just learn proper self defence, even a couple Krav Maga moves, she wouldn't risk their arses and hers by carrying a knife around. Every time they were together, she always pulled shit like this. If she didn't end up pissing someone off or picking a fight with one of them, she was trying to pretend she was on par with them. "Jesus Christ, Beth! I swear you're going to get us all killed one day."

"It's not from my bag." Owen raised his hands, spoon in one and the other empty. This was the usual eccentric Deckard 'I was nominated for a Victoria Cross' Shaw response, but situations rarely occurred that brought out this side of him. "You know I don't need a knife to take care of the likes of her."

Wait, was that a threat, a compliment, or an insult? From Owen, you could never quite tell. And it _was_ from his bag. For as long as he'd been in the military, they'd always had an arrangement: if together, one of them brought a knife. Sometimes fists just couldn't cut it, and for her, a knife was an easier form of self defence than punching her way out. Being able to throw or hold something was also less risky than allowing someone close enough to shank her.

"Are you _ever_ going to stop pretending like I'm the only one making stupid decisions around here, Deck?" she snapped. And here they went, butting heads over things he couldn't let go of. There was a reason she got along better with Owen than him: he couldn't let go of grudges. When it came to Owen, bygones were bygones inside of a week, and if there was still a lingering issue, they put everything on the table and dealt with it. "I was eighteen, and I chose the mob over the military because at least I belong there."

 _Have your fucking cake,_ she thought, standing and leaving her spoon on the stool. If one of them didn't walk away now, tempers were going to flare and this would turn out worse than it had with Magdalene. With Deckard and Owen, she rarely held back; they'd seen the full extent of her temper on her worst day and lived to laugh about it. Being a grown woman who lost her temper would also make her feel nothing short of weak and pathetic. _I'm going for a run._

"And where do you think you're going?" Deckard scowled as she opened the garage door. She was hardly dressed for a date at a cafe let alone visit her friends, provided she still had any. "It's a quarter past four and we're leaving for Greece at midday."

 _She's not even in Greece anymore, wanker._ She shut the garage door behind her and started jogging down the driveway. The old hag on the front step with her cup of tea, leopard print jacket, and large tiger's eye ring, went ignored. Seconds later, Magdalene was up off her arse and keeping pace in her slippers. Elizabeth cringed but said nothing, focused on hugging the gutter and not being hit by any cars.

Magdalene waited till they turned the corner and allowed herself to fall a few paces behind before she said, "I'm sorry, Lizzy."

"I called you a bitch, you slapped me." The bite of anger in her voice wasn't subtle despite all attempts to keep her tone flat. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it is. You ain't my flesh and blood but you're still my daughter." Maybe it was that dark head of hair or those high cheekbones, but when Elizabeth tilted her head at just the right angle, she could've sworn it was Michael standing there and not her. Owen had his jaw and nose, but everything else including his attitude towards Owen and Deckard and those cold eyes had skipped their two sons and ended up in her. "Slow down will you? I'm not that fit anymore, love. Can we at least talk about this like grown women?"

"Fine. Perhaps then we can stop acting like your sons are boys to be coddled and not men who need a good boot up the arse." How many times had she let Owen's behaviour slide over the years, or excused it? The fights, the pretending like his personality didn't verge on borderline psychopathic some days. Ignoring Deckard's penchant for wannabe heroics was one thing; turning a blind eye to Owen coming home with fractured ribs, bruised eyes, busted lips, and shredded knuckles, was another. Elizabeth stepped onto the nature strip and turned around to face her, angling herself away from the road as two black SUVs drove past and turned into their street. "What do you really want?"

"How's your father?"

The last time she'd heard from him was pre-Gitmo, before Cipher entered their lives and Owen went on his rampage. Those were the days when touching half a billion dollars was just a dream and the closest she could come was crunching numbers at a desk in Moscow. Now it was still a dream, but Cipher's presence had pushed it a few steps closer to becoming reality. "I wouldn't know."

She buttoned her jacket up to the collar and frowned, smoothing out the wrinkles before she started walking back towards the corner of their street. She could spot suspicion from a mile away and _that_ was beyond blatant. Magdalene made sure the street and its surroundings were always well lit in case of emergency. Irish government plates on military vehicles? That never boded well. "Armoured cars don't often drive 'round these parts of London."

Cars that had to be at least four or five hundred kilos heavier than they were fresh off the factory floor? No, they didn't. All that weight made them sit lower sans their tyres being raised or suspension systems improved. That left two options: either they didn't care about being spotted, in which case whoever used those cars was a complete idiot, or riding low was a strategic choice.

"If there's any chance they're not headed for my house, they'll be exiting the street now." Living in a cul-de-sac with other elderly people offered one advantage: if the police or other law enforcement types showed up, it didn't require a genius to figure out whose door they were about to knock on.

A sigh and a shrug was Elizabeth's only response before she started walking in the direction of the house. The chance of that happening was slim to none. Unless the old crone next door had chosen to murder her husband spur of the moment, odds were Deckard and Owen had probably pissed somebody off again.

Magdalene trailed behind her as they took the corner. She stopped just past the first electricity pole and didn't budge. Her instincts told her to stay put. From a distance she could see five people in tactical gear standing on her front lawn, and her sons on their knees.

One minute there were three, the next two. Deckard looked up just as a figure crash tackled one of the soldiers to the ground and drew the attention of the others. The few seconds it afforded him was all he needed to disarm one and disable another by dislocating their dominant arm. Owen dealt with the two remaining without hesitation, leaving Beth to her brawl.

Given a two second advantage, she punched her target in the face twice, drove his balls up into his body with her knee, and pressed her switchblade to the underside of his jaw. For good measure, she jackhammered her knee into his groin again then demanded, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The sound of Deckard being hit distracted her and it took all of a moment to throw her into the ground. Flynn, or so his uniform read, took the opportunity to draw his pistol and pressed it to the back of her head. When he spoke, his American accent came as a surprise. "Mr. Nobody has a plane waiting. Either you three come willingly or we cuff you and drag you onboard."

The click of the safety sent a shiver down her spine and turned her bones to jelly. The steel barrel felt colder than ice when it was pressed into her scalp, leaving her anger at seeing her brothers on their knees to dissipate as she crumpled under his weight. How one noise could hurl someone backwards through twenty-nine years of memories was something she'd never quite understand, but it did. She could feel the wooden floorboards under her hands, and the top of her head smacked the slats of the bed above her each time she tried to look up; her muffled shallow breathing sounded like thunder in her ears while the acrid stench of cigar smoke stung her nostrils.

"You made a deal, Deckard."

"I told him I'd find Cipher. I only need more time!"

"I want to go back to Santa Clara," Owen heard Elizabeth whisper. "Put me back on that fucking plane _now_."

"Your time's up. Cuffs or no cuffs? Do we make this easier or harder than it has to be?"

From where Owen stood, nothing looked different about Beth except the tremors in her hands. With the bastard's knee on her back and his gun to her head, she hadn't moved a centimetre since being pinned. "No cuffs! Just get off her, will you?"

"Deckard?" Flynn pressed, ignoring Owen's call. "If you're not going to do it for yourself, think of your siblings. She's meant to be serving life, and the Spanish want him dead."

He swore under his breath. What the hell was Nobody playing at? He'd told them it would take longer than two months. Eventually Cipher would be locked up in segregation at U-Max, but finding her wasn't as simple as snapping his fingers. He looked across at Owen, one step short of breaking someone's neck, and Beth, hands shaking as she tried to keep it together.

"Now look what you've done. Ruined my bloody flowers, you have! I'd been growing those in memory of their father." The look on the soldiers' faces as Magdalene walked towards them and began her tirade could only be described as sheer horror. The false sense of security they'd been lulled into by thinking the worst was over had just been shattered. "Couldn't even wait till daylight before coming in to destroy another family, could you? This is elderly abuse by the government! I want to speak to Head Office. You're MI5, aren't you? It's always MI5, ever since Thatcher finished her run you've been harassing my family."

"Mum, it's fine," Deckard said, standing and moving between her and the group of five. Two SUVs were parked facing the house but only one had opened its doors. The other, he assumed, was for them. "Why don't you go back inside and make yourself a cuppa, eh, and what're you doing wandering around in your slippers at this time of morning?"

Her shoulders sagged as she got to her feet. Flynn had backed off the minute Magdalene started shouting. Free to move, she stepped backwards toward Owen and flicked the switchblade closed. Who knew one day she'd end up being saved by the old hag? As Magdalene walked past her, Elizabeth murmured, "thank you."

"Keep them alive, will you?" she responded in a low voice. "I can't be there to save you every time."

"Dementia," Owen said, gesturing to his head. "Sometimes she thinks she is Thatcher."

"I heard that, Owen Geoffrey! Oh look what you've done to Sheila, she's terrified. Poor cat." She scooped up air and cradled it against her chest. "You come around here again and I'll have you arrested!"


	5. Chapter 5

"There's no time for arguing, now get in the car." Deckard had seen that little head tilt and the following jaw movement. His sister and mother conspiring together? That couldn't be good for anyone. The second SUV had driven up onto the kerb and nature strip by the time Magdalene retreated inside; its rear door was promptly opened and the fate that awaited them dangled in their faces. "Now."

Owen grabbed the inside roof handle and pulled himself in, taking the corner seat behind the driver without hesitation. He noted the tinted glass barrier separating them and the driver, along with the lack of just about everything a car usually had in the way of comfort and accessibility. With no controls for the blacked out windows and no door handles, it was a veritable death trap if ever he'd seen one.

Deckard climbed in next. There was no point in looking over his shoulder to check for Elizabeth. She wasn't getting in any time soon without a fight, if ever. He could read her like one of those waterproof books you bought a toddler for bathtime; action was prized over words, and loyalty placed alongside it. A willingness to do whatever was necessary to survive, however, ranked first place amongst the aspects of her personality he'd deemed most dangerous.

Owen, unsurprisingly, was predictable in his eyes, and when it came down to it so was she. There were only so many choices a person could make in any given situation. Hers presently came down to two: get in the car, or don't.

Flynn stepped forward and gestured to the open door. If she didn't move, he'd lift her and throw her in himself. Woman or not he'd had it up to here with playing chauffer to Nobody's pals. All he'd ever gotten from it was a growing list of injuries. "You have thirty seconds before I put you in that car myself, Miss Shaw."

"You have five to get out of my face."

"Oh I do? Get—"

She whipped her head forward and struck his nose with her forehead. The cartilage shattered into fragments on impact, leaving his nose looking lopsided and off-centre. "I swear to God himself if they don't make it to wherever the hell you're taking us alive, you'll have more to worry about than a broken nose."

Owen managed to smother a laugh but couldn't hide the amused look on his face. Albeit he earned himself a glare from Deckard, he opted to give her a thumbs up once she was inside the SUV. Perhaps the pickup team hadn't been briefed on how the Shaw family operated. Truthfully, he found that hard to believe. Unless they were working from old files, there was no reason for anyone to think they could begin to try and push his sister around without being on the receiving end of her defiant attitude. And if not for Deckard signalling him to go easy on these bastards, there would've been a pile of bodies ready for burial inside of five minutes.

"You've gotten—" Owen paused and looked Elizabeth over. Where _had_ their chipmunk of a sister gone? Now she was more like a bear: aggressive and headstrong with a touch of impulsiveness to boot. "—better."

She shrugged off the compliment and chose to slide closer to Owen. When the doors shut, she'd need some form of reassurance to quell the anxiety that'd rear its head. The question of whether that door, like the one on her cell, would ever open again couldn't be permitted room in her head, and yet it was already there in the back of her mind, fuelling her instinctual fears. "I had some free time in prison."

She just couldn't stay out of trouble, could she? First Dmitri, then Cipher. Now she was throwing her weight around once more. As amusing as it was, Deckard preferred not to think about the repercussions of them assaulting their escort. A busted nose wasn't much of an injury, however it was as valid an excuse as any to break out the riot gear and flog them.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the reinforced door was slammed shut and the passenger compartment thrown into darkness. Their faces were illuminated only by what little light passed through the glass barrier; it glinted off the thick metal rings they should've been shackled to and splintered into thin lines that faded to nothingness beneath the seats. The SUV bounced as it reversed off the nature strip before proceeding to exit the street and turn right. The nearest airport was just under an hour's drive away.

"Beth?" Owen murmured as she gripped his right hand and squeezed it. More than four years apart and it was like nothing had changed. Either God had done them a favour, or the Devil had plans, because their family was intact and mostly unscathed. "You alright?"

"Yeah, fine." Of course she was. That door would open inside of an hour and they'd be able to breathe fresh air. They weren't going to be taken to a black site and left for dead, right? It was just a bad case of extortion and blackmail, not the preliminary to an execution. "Just tell me she paid you."

"She?"

"I didn't ruin my life only to find out we got ripped off." How could she even show her face in Moscow now? She'd been taken by the Feds and was still alive: what other assumption could they make other than she became a snitch. "Twenty-eighty was the agreed split, remember?"

 _Dammit._ Owen pulled his hand free and slid toward the other end of the seat. He'd wound up smeared over the tarmac and comatose before the chip could be delivered! Cipher had made a five percent security deposit, but that billion dollars would never see the light of day. No delivery, no payment: Elizabeth had to know how these types of business deals went down. "No, we didn't get paid," Owen said, "the plane was taken down before I could make delivery."

* * *

"The bad news: I've got an injured team member … she broke his nose."

Luke almost snorted his drink at that. If a broken nose was the worst of their worries, the Shaws had held back. He set his bottle of water and a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War down, and waited for the other penny to drop. Seated by a window with his legs stretched out in front of him, Hobbs had been dreading an update since they'd boarded the plane. Cuba had been one giant letdown, but surely grabbing them on their home turf where they felt comfortable and safe would prove beneficial. "Do I get dessert?"

"They're in the back of an SUV right now," Eric said, clutching a manila folder in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. There was no use in hiding the shit-eating grin on his face. Even if he wanted to, it just wouldn't go away. He sat opposite Nobody and crossed one leg over the other then proceeded to open the folder with one hand. _Captain Owen G. Shaw,_ , the inside cover sheet read, _British Special Air Service._ "The plane leaves in forty minutes, and it's a direct flight from London."

"All three?"

"Deckard, Elizabeth, and Owen." He took a sip of his coffee and set it down in the holder. To hell with sleep, he needed to memorise these files cover to cover and find something — anything — he could use as leverage beyond the obvious. "They'll be on U.S soil in eleven hours."

Hobbs nodded to himself and smiled in anticipation of the looks he'd get when that car door was opened. He imagined the younger two Shaws wouldn't be so happy. They were the ones who'd embraced the criminal lifestyle, unlike Deckard; he'd come looking for revenge, not a paycheck. "I want to be there when they land."

"You will," Mr. Nobody said. He undid his tie and set it aside. His suit jacket was already bagged and hanging in the on-board storage closet, along with his shoes. The lights had been dimmed and the curtains were closed to block out the plane's navigation lights. "Junior here isn't cut out to handle the big game yet."

"I said I wouldn't shit the bed again," Eric protested. They'd been over this numerous times: he was more than ready to sell their plan. "I've worked on my sales pitch for the last three months. _You've_ heard it, right, Hobbs?"

"Maybe once you've gained another hundred pounds," Nobody said, ending the conversation. "It's not a matter of your sales pitch. You just trapped three wolves in a cage and two have over fifteen years military experience."

"And the other one," Luke said, "Well, if she goes for your balls in a fight, you'll know about it."

All those memories from the good days, Luke had clung to them after his team was killed. He remembered well what'd happened in that brothel hallway with Fusco, those weeks spent in Tahiti simultaneously chasing a criminal and relaxing; the day he opened a box of files and handpicked his team. The pain had eased after months of counselling, but the sense of loss and that permanent feeling of now having one hand tied behind his back when doing his job would never go away.

"Fine." Better Hobbs than him in that case. Eric returned his attention to the manila folder on his lap and started rereading it for the third time in the past week. There had to be something in their files, some clue as to how Cipher had found them, or how she'd first approached Deckard. 

He was disappointed, Luke noted. Jesus, Reisner was going to get himself killed if he approached them the wrong way. The brothers weren't volatile per se, but they certainly had no problem knocking someone off their pedestal. " _If_ you come to the airfield, you keep your mouth shut," Luke relented, "and I do all the talking."

It was fair enough, Eric supposed. He hadn't had contact with Owen Shaw, and based off what hadn't been redacted in Deckard's file, the two brothers were the antitheses of each other. He also hadn't worked with Hobbs before without Nobody present. This was an opportunity to learn, _and_ to study their not-quite-allies. "Thank you."

"Uh-huh." Luke stood and stretched his upper body then sat and reclined his seat back. Five hours from now, he'd be asleep in a hotel room near the airport while they waited for the Shaws to land. While he sympathised with being stuck in a parked car within the belly of a plane for eleven long hours, no one could argue it wasn't for the sake of solving a problem the Shaws themselves had created. "Have fun reading."

* * *

"You wanna grab him?" Letty said, stirring as Marcus's cries reached her ears. She'd finally learnt all the various pitches and tones of his cries over the last two months, and could tell just by the way he tried to flatten his nostrils against his face if she was in need of the diaper bag. Fortunately, this was his regular 'I need a change' cry. "Dom—"

She glanced up and noted Dom's absence before letting her head drop back against the pillow. The clock on the bedside drawer read two a.m. One hour since his last diaper change? If this was a case of diarrhea, Letty was going to need to stock up again on wipes. Letty closed her eyes just as the sound of Dom's voice and footsteps reached her ears; she felt the bed sink when they rejoined her and thought nothing more of it till she woke again.

By then, the early morning sunlight filtered through the thin blue curtains of their room and cast shapes against the far wall. If the sun was up, so were she and Dom; that was how they lived their life now. Give Marcus an opportunity to climb something or hide and they could spend an hour searching for him, only for him to slip out and surprise them.

"Dom?" Letty called out before she found her pants and a shirt and tugged them on. His side of the bed was empty and neatened, leaving her to wonder if he was downstairs or taking a shower. Some mornings, she'd find him on the phone talking to Marcus and Elena, listening as Marcus 'explained' what manner of trouble he'd gotten up to in Elena's apartment or Hobbs' office.

"Momma," Marcus squealed, giggling as he was promptly hidden under a bed sheet by Dom..

"Momma, I think we lost Marcus again!" Dom called out from the spare bedroom. Marcus had spent half the night fussing and left him with little choice but to sleep in the spare bedroom with his son. The past two weeks had been rough for Letty. Some nights he found her asleep with her head on the toilet roll holder, other times she'd be on the sofa downstairs with a set of earphones in and her playlists set to shuffle. She hadn't talked to him about what was keeping her awake, and Dom was hesitant to ask. As much as he wanted to understand and be supportive of his wife, part of him didn't want to hear her answer if it involved Elena and Marcus.

"Again?" Letty said, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her shoulders sagged in relief and she walked out into the hallway. It was the exaggerated looks on their faces that would set Marcus off once they 'found' where he was hiding. His high pitch laugh that only came out when they were playing a game, that cheeky grin on his face: it was all Dom; even Leon had taken one look at Marcus and instantly fallen in love with him. Marcus just seemed to have that effect on people. "Papa, how'd you lose Marcus this time? Did you leave him in the garage again?"

"I don't think so." He stretched out on the bed and feigned ignorance each time Marcus stuck his head out from beneath the blanket, only to quickly crawl back under moments later.

" _Oh._ I see we've got a problem with lumpy blankets again." Letty sat beside Dom and gently poked Marcus through the blanket. In a few seconds, he'd sit up and wrestle with the blanket to reveal himself as he always did. And right on schedule, Marcus sat up on his knees and attempted a roar. Letty fell back on the bed in response and gasped. "You scared me!"

"There was a note from Elena in the bag," Dom said. He hadn't wanted to show it to her once he found it, except Letty deserved to know what exactly was going on. It seemed Hobbs was searching for Cipher again, and Elena felt worried enough to ask Dom to help him if the situation went south. He'd never hesitate in coming to Luke's aid, but with Marcus in his life, suddenly every risk he took was assessed and thought over. "I called her earlier and she said she'll come pick Marcus up in a few hours."

"Yeah, I found it too," Letty said, "I just didn't know what to do with it." Would he be angry? She'd seen it and dreaded what would follow if she acted on it. How many times had they risked their lives for Hobbs? Every time he came calling, Dom answered. Letty was tired of the bullets and blood. She wanted to go back to fixing cars and not spend her nights wondering what piece of her — their — past would come back to haunt them.

"If Hobbs gets into trouble, he's gonna need the team, Letty." He reached for Marcus and pulled him onto his chest, grunting quietly when his son began to bounce up and down and kick his legs. Dom had told Letty about Brazil and the heist, being hunted by Hobbs and ending up in the middle of a firefight that didn't end well for the DSS, but he'd never found the words to fully express the horror of it all. "He's gonna need us."

* * *

"Where are we?" she said, sitting on the floor of the car with her legs bent and hair tied up in bun. The drive had been alright, till suddenly the car began driving uphill and a loud rumbling noise surrounded them. Deckard and Owen proceeded to tell her to get comfortable, that the door would be closed for far longer than expected, and so the nightmare had begun. "We haven't moved since the plane landed. D'you think—"

"Go back to sleep, Beth," Owen groaned. If he'd known following Deckard meant spending half a day trapped in a car with someone who couldn't understand the concept of 'getting over it', Owen would've walked back inside the house and told Deckard exactly where to shove his compliance. "We could be anywhere in the world and we won't know where we are till that door opens."

A plane. A goddamn plane. The bastard had driven them into a plane and left them in the SUV without a word. The air-con kept them cool enough, and Deckard found a sealed six-pack of bottled water shoved in a corner, but nothing could stop her mind ticking over, nor could anything stop her nausea.

Given Nobody's involvement, there were only a few places he imagined it would be worth hand-delivering them to. Los Angeles was one of them. Deckard squinted in the dark but couldn't see much more than the shape of Elizabeth, still fighting herself and trying to remain calm. Eleven hours in a car was a long time for anyone, but a car they couldn't leave was far worse.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the car and the numbers on his digital wrist watch became visible, Deckard relented in giving it to Elizabeth as a distraction. It allowed her to focus, to tune out her body and the occasional harsh movements of the plane; it also stopped Owen's complaining about her inability to cope in what was a considerably large confined space. The first fight, unfortunately, came three hours into their trip. The second at the seven hour mark. Deckard had all but accepted the third fight would place them at war with one another.

"Wankers," Elizabeth grumbled, easing herself down again and stretching her legs out on the floor. She tucked one arm under her head and clutched the wrist watch in her other hand, curling and stretching her toes against the now warm rubber flooring. "When he opens that door, I'll break more than just his nose."

"Relax, will you?" Deckard said, and thumped his fist repeatedly against his seat. She really was starting to get on his nerves, though he couldn't blame her. As if on cue, he heard the whirr of the plane's ramp being lowered, and heavy footsteps on metal followed two minutes later. It was about time! _Please be Hobbs,_ he prayed, listening to the lock disengage, _for God's sake let it be Hobbs._

"Door's unlocked, Shaw. Sorry about the wait. Little Nobody here couldn't pick which dress he wanted to wear this morning."

Deckard slid his way along the seats, lifting his feet when he felt Elizabeth on the floor, and made it to the door quicker than his brother could pick a fight. He pushed against the door and it swung open, revealing Hobbs with Little Nobody standing behind him. "Took your sweet time, didn't you, and what's _he_ want?"

"Sorry."

"We want you to help us find Cipher," Little Nobody interrupted.

"What do you think I've been doing these past few months?" Deckard said, climbing out and stepping to the side, "Sitting on my arse? I told you it would take time."

"Well we're running out of time. Are you in or what?" Luke said. "There's a flight back to London in four hours if you say no."

"Good," Elizabeth said, stepping out of the SUV before Owen could move. She looked past Deckard to the figure he was talking to, and shielded her eyes from the sudden intrusion of light with one hand. "You can book me a seat—"

"Well if it isn't Her Royal Highness." Luke planted his feet firm and rested his hands on his hips, giving her a smug smirk that said if she tried anything he'd bodyslam her into the floor of the plane. "Hi, Princess. Long time no see."

"Hobbs," she growled, stepping sideways so she could glare at him without interference from Deckard's shoulder. "I hoped you'd be dead now."

"I tried it. Nice apartment in Santa Clara, by the way," Luke said, noting when Deckard put his arm out to stop her. "Those tools under the floorboards? It's a shame you had to leave them behind. Anyway, as I was saying: Cipher's on the move and we need to find her soon before she pulls something bigger than kidnapping and nearly killing a federal agent and her child."

"You know this arsehole, Deck?"

Owen sat in the doorway of the SUV and scoffed as he carded his fingers through his short black hair to neaten it. "We all do. He's a two-bit government hack."

"You, take a walk," Deckard said, giving Elizabeth a look. "Owen, shut up and pay attention. Keep talking, Hobbs."


	6. Chapter 6

He'd found her apartment. An apartment with no paper trail and only a handshake as a lease agreement. Elizabeth shrugged to herself, muttered "not bad", and crossed her arms over her chest. A two-bit government hack couldn't find someone who'd gone to the extent she had to conceal herself, but naturally Hobbs could. Clearly she'd underestimated his abilities and determination. "How'd you do it?"

"I have eyes everywhere." Where would the fun be in admitting God's Eye existed and that he could track them across the globe without having to leave his bed? The less they knew the better. Till he was certain none of them were working for Cipher, he'd keep everything compartmentalised.

There really was no hiding from him, was there? No matter which country she picked, or what rock she lay under, Hobbs had some inescapable advantage. "What's the offer this time?"

"There is no offer," Deckard said, "no deal. We're finishing what we started, it's as simple as that."

 _More like what they started_. She shoved Deckard's arm down and walked towards the ramp. And what Hobbs had said about the kid, was he lying or had Cipher finally lost it? All that talk of holding the superpowers of the world accountable, the billion dollars, only to allegedly kidnap a child. Christ, what'd happened in the past two years?

"Shaw, wait." If he had to buy her, so be it. It was a temporary solution to a long-term problem; a solution that could buy him enough time to find a more permanent one. Luke sighed and glanced over at Eric with a hopeful look on his face then said, "I expunge your record, you help us track Cipher."

That was the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard. If Hobbs did that, she'd be on the fast track to an early grave. The mob would notice something as miraculous as her criminal record suddenly disappearing, and they'd _know_. It didn't take much more than that to figure out she'd caved and bent the knee to the government. It wasn't as if she could ever return to Moscow and get her old job back anyway, but what further proof was there that someone had turned traitor. Elizabeth shook her head and descended the plane's ramp only to find herself facing five men in tactical gear when she reached the bottom.

Who was she kidding? It didn't matter what Hobbs offered, she'd never take his deal on principle.

"Fine," Eric muttered. The hard way it was, regardless of Hobbs' approval. He put his cellphone to his ear and said, "Bravo Team is green."

Owen was on the floor with a rifle in his face before he had a chance to react to the movement in his peripheral vision. Deckard, on the other hand, stood tall and glared daggers at Reisner as two men approached him with their sidearms drawn. He shook his head, muttered "wanker" and shifted his focus to Hobbs. "You're really just gonna stand there and let this bastard screw us over, Hobbs? I thought you and me had a thing, Twinkletoes."

"We need all three of you," Eric said.

"No, you only need the two of us, plus Toretto's crew. Does that sound about right?" Deckard said. This was the exact same argument they'd just had, and God knew Deckard hated repeating himself. "I already told you I was looking for Cipher. You could've waited! One more month and we'd have found her."

Eric scoffed and stepped forward to approach Deckard. If he wanted to play, they'd play. He signalled the two men on Owen and they hauled him to his knees. The moment he gave the word, Shaw would be behind bars again and Deckard would be on his knees kissing their ass to get his brother free again. "Have her how? We've got God's Eye running twenty-four seven and she hasn't pinged it once. Cipher's out there and we can't even find her with it, what makes you think two washed out British Special Forces soldiers could find her?"

"Well good luck finding her with Toretto's crew alone. Nice knowing you, Hobbs. I'll take that plane ride back to London, thanks."

Goddamnit! "Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Shaw? She's alive because of _your_ screw-up, not ours. This is your mess to clean up. If you'd killed her when you had the chance, none of this would be happening."

"And if I had, Marcus would be dead. Your arse was on the ground, Reisner, not on that bloody plane saving the baby. I made my decision and I stand by it!"

Elizabeth paused midway up the ramp, listening intently to the argument. Cipher really had kidnapped a child it seemed, and Deckard had gone all Captain Britain on them. She swallowed and shoved her trembling hands in her pockets, focusing on the solid metal beneath her bare feet in an attempt to slow her heart rate down. _Deckard_ was the ones making things difficult? Of course, it wasn't as if this Yank in a suit and his friends had kidnapped them at gunpoint from their mother's home or anything. Typical Americans. They stirred the pot then got out of Dodge and let everyone else stand in the way when the shit hit the fan.

Luke looked to his left and noticed her standing there but said nothing. If she'd been listening for even half the time, maybe it'd sway her compass in their direction. That was the deal with the Shaws, wasn't it? _Every man has to have a code_ , Owen said that night, _Mine? Precision._ God only knew what Deckard's code was. Shaw had earned his respect over those few days, but if Deckard had a code, Hobbs couldn't pinpoint it.

And her. She'd taken the dive, remained silent on the Owen front the entire time. Was it honour, protection, or justice? Or something as simple as greed? Something had to be ticking in that head of hers, else why throw away two years of her life only to hole up in an apartment and live on rice and beans and fix things for free?

"It's your call, Deckard," Luke spoke finally. "Either Owen goes to prison, or he helps the team."

Her footsteps echoed in the plane as her feet slapped the metal floor and Hobbs couldn't help but chuckle. All he'd had to do was make a threat and she was ready to go to war. Now Luke understood. Her code was family, and protection. She'd taken the dive for Owen, and here she came marching towards them looking like she'd been sent by the Devil himself at the mere mention of Owen going to prison. Luke smiled at Eric and nodded. They didn't need to buy her, they just had to keep Owen's head on the chopping block and she'd jump the second they gave the word.

"You!"

"Let me guess," Luke said with a chuckle, "you want your corgis back."

"Hobbs." Deckard scowled. The British jokes had worn out their welcome after the first 'Your Majesty' crack. He knew how to take a joke, but some things you just got over after the first half dozen times they were said. What happened next, well, Deckard couldn't say he was surprised, however unexpected it was. Elizabeth went straight past Hobbs without another word and rammed her knee into Little Nobody's junk then jabbed him in the face with her fist, leaving him with a bloody nose and the choice of whether to stand with his head tilted back or double over and protect his crown jewels.

"If you _ever_ threaten either of my brothers again, Reisner, you're gonna wish I understood the concept of self-restraint," Elizabeth spat. She turned on her toes and walked towards the SUV with its still-open door. Her shoes were inside it, along with her fears. She leaned in and found her boots then sat in the doorway and tugged them on, all the while never taking her eyes off Hobbs and his bloody friend. "So when do we start this little carnival of horrors?"

"We don't," Owen said, shoving one of the guns out of his face. If they weren't going to shoot him, he wasn't going to kneel there as if waiting for the executioner to put him out of his misery. "We're going back home. To Mum."

"Oh, are we now?"

Deckard rolled his eyes and leaned back against the car. One minute they were saving each other's skins, the next they were flogging each other or picking fights over some tiny thing like how to marinade a piece of meat. He supposed this was what happened when you left two kids with 'me vs the world' attitudes to fend for themselves.

"Yeah." Owen turned around and closed the gap between them. She was already two steps behind and didn't even know it. It figured she'd lost her touch given he'd been in prison and she'd been living it up in Cuba. "The next flight out will have tickets with our names on them."

She crossed her arms and glared at him from where she sat. If he thought she'd last a minute on a plane without medication, Owen had clearly forgotten how many bags she'd needed on their school trip to Dublin. "I'm not getting on another fucking plane when I just spent the entire night locked in that car."

"I didn't say we'd be physically onboard," he murmured, "got it?"

They wouldn't be—

_Oh._

She shoved him backwards and out of her face. Putting their names on tickets would surely ping Cipher's radar, if she was actively looking for them. "You're an arse, you know. You get out of prison and don't write me a bloody letter to say you're alive."

"What would've been the point? You didn't even know I'd ended up in a coma."

"Common courtesy, Owen. Mum's been trying to teach you it for twenty-nine or more years but it never gets through your thick skull."

Luke caught Deckard's attention and jerked his head towards the ramp. Whatever had just happened between them, he'd need Shaw keeping tabs on his siblings if things were to go off without a hitch. Hobbs glanced back at Reisner and his bloody nose before he descended the ramp but didn't say a word. They had other problems to deal with, one of which included how he was going to get Owen and Letty in a room without someone ending up dead. "Are they always like that?" he asked as Deckard caught up to him, "I don't need any more damn problems. Eric and Roman are bad enough, but those two—"

"You should see them when they're _actively_ trying to kill each other." He hadn't liked the way Owen got so close, but it was easier to let them sort their problems out than step in and play any variant of peacekeeper. Sometimes, you just had to know when to walk away and mind your own business. "But don't play her like that. She'll join the team of her own volition soon enough, it'll just take time."

"We don't have time." That was half the problem. The longer it took to find Cipher, the higher the risk she'd find them first. Sure enough they'd chosen a new facility to be Nowhere 2.0, but Luke didn't want to sit around and just do nothing while he waited for Shaw and whoever else to make up their minds. "And I didn't play her, Little Nobody did, and you've seen how well that's worked out for him so far."

"Yeah, sorry about that. She's a little . . ."

"Aggressive?"

Deckard shrugged. Close enough. Owen and Elizabeth seemed to have inherited their father's violent streak, along with his propensity for mischief. He, on the other hand, was the supposed spitting image of their mother. The phrase 'still waters run deep' had been used to describe them both at one time or another, though he also had no qualms about embracing his father's attitude towards life.

"Have you heard from Toretto?" Deckard said.

"No." Luke had wanted the three of them onboard before he and Dom spoke. Hopefully, it'd mean Dom would feel this wasn't just some suicide mission. Without him and his crew, the four of them didn't stand a chance against Cipher and they both knew it. "He's been helping to raise Marcus."

"So there hasn't exactly been a good time to ask 'how do you prefer to die?' yet."

"Nobody's dying, Shaw. Not on my watch." Hobbs was being cautious first and foremost. With two loose cannons on the team already, he couldn't afford anyone going rogue and flying off the handle. They'd come up with a plan and unless something went wrong, they'd stick to it. Luke knew Toretto could improvise, and that the others would follow him, but Owen and their sister — well that was a disaster waiting to happen.

"How's your partner?"

Deckard wasn't quite sure how someone was meant to ask about the wellbeing of a woman they'd once tried to kill, but he had come to like her. She was a decent person in his eyes, and the way Hobbs spoke of her was nothing short of admiration.

"Elena's good. She's healing, and she's on paid leave for the moment till Marcus is old enough then she's gonna start putting him in daycare and come back to the DSS." Unfortunately, Elena hadn't gotten away from Cipher unscathed. One bullet in the shoulder and a deep cut to her arm with both requiring stitches, but Luke supposed it was better than her dying. "Marcus is almost ready to start running too."

Deckard chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at Owen. He'd been eight years old when his little brother was born, and not a day went by when a part of him didn't regret pulling Owen's arse into line then and there. "Yeah, I remember what that was like."

"So?" Elizabeth whispered, sliding back further into the SUV till she could comfortably lay down with her feet dangling out the door. She propped her head up on her arms and stared at Owen's back as he seated himself in the doorway between her ankles. Funnily enough, she almost wanted the dark solace of the SUV to be hers again. Two hours ago, there were no questions inside of her and no hesitations. Now . . . Now she was stuck wondering if a child's life was worth a billion dollars. "I'm in, fine, but what the hell are we supposed to do? Deckard's going to be on our arses twenty-four seven with Hobbs and I don't fancy having him follow me to the loo every time I need to pee."

"Let's just find out where we're going first," Owen said, keeping his voice low. Reisner had taken to finding the bathroom so he could clean his face up, although the damage was minimal. She'd made him bleed without breaking anything obvious, and that knee to the bollocks — oh what he wouldn't have paid for Deckard to film that. She'd appeared to be going for Hobbs, ready to flog him half to death, and walked right past him instead. "The more we know, the easier it'll be to find Cipher."

"One of us is gonna have to leave, y'know."

Yeah, he'd figured that out several hours ago. Owen had been thinking it over, attempting to find the best outcome with the least pain involved. With Hobbs and Deckard around, along with Reisner and his team, not to mention Toretto, things would have to happen way below radar. "Don't worry about it."

"Course it will. I suppose you're Adler then, and I'm Moriarty," Elizabeth joked. She pushed herself up with her arms and turned her head slightly to the left, noticing something metallic reflecting light from beneath the seat. Was it a knife, or had one of those goons forgotten a bullet or something? She slid back further into the SUV till the toes of her boots grazed Owen's thighs and blindly reached behind her to slowly run her fingers over the carpet.

Her fingernails knocked it first, whatever it was, and Elizabeth moved her fingers slow and steady till she could feel the two sharp edges on either side. She followed the metal down to the hilt and rolled her eyes. What idiot locked two Majors and a civilian in a car and forgot to check it for weapons? How she'd missed it while laying on the floor during their journey was beside the point now. Elizabeth lifted her foot and nudged him in the ribs. It'd be easier to hide on her, given she was female, but he was the one who knew how to wield it better. "Oi, Owen."

"Yeah?"

"Stick your hand out behind you."

"You're not gonna smash it, are you?" he said. She'd pulled that trick once or twice in their youth and Owen had quickly learnt not to place blind faith in her so easily. That said, times had changed, and he leaned back, arm stretched out backwards and flattened his hand out with his palm facing the roof of the car. Something hard touched his hand and Owen hesitated before closing his fist around it. "Where'd you find that?"

"It was under the seat, and it feels like military grade too. Certainly not something I'd be carrying around."

"Deckard's?"

"I don't know, but it might come in handy if they use zipties."

Finders keepers rules applied at this moment. If they openly asked Deckard about the knife, Hobbs would know he'd come armed. If they kept quiet, Deckard would no doubt ask _them_ , yet if it wasn't Deckard's, the soldier who'd somehow misplaced his blade was unlikely to go around making it known he'd allowed a weapon to fall into the hands of their quasi-enemy.

"Shove it back where you found it," Owen said, letting it go and pushing it back towards her. They didn't need the trouble that smuggling a weapon would bring. "C'mon. Let's just get this over with, then we can figure out where to go from here."

"Owen—"

He scratched the left side of his face and flinched when he hit a small sore spot. His scars still seemed tender, and if he itched them too much, he'd break through the skin and draw blood. Unfortunately Owen did that a little more often than he liked. "Please."

"It's gonna take a miracle for us to get out of this alive."

"Then I suggest you start praying to St. Dismas, Professor."


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, little man, you're up early," Letty said, lifting Marcus from his bed. She'd heard him through the wall, talking to himself and playing with his toy Charger. After half an hour, she figured he wasn't going back to bed anytime soon and left Dom to his dreams. "You wanna get something to eat?"

"Yeah." Marcus yawned and nodded as he was carried downstairs to the kitchen. "Papa?"

Dom had stayed awake till half past two working on his car after Elena texted to say she'd be there by ten. Hobbs was on his way back to Los Angeles, the message said, with company. Who 'company' was, she didn't elaborate on, only that they'd talk when she got to the house. At this point, Letty wasn't sure she even wanted to know the details of Hobbs' trip to Cuba. Cipher, Hobbs, Nobody, and Company: it all added up to one hell of a potential nightmare for their family.

"Papa's sleeping so we gotta be quiet. Let's see, is it Cheerios or Cap'n Crunch today?" Letty said, cradling Marcus against her. It didn't matter that he wasn't _her_ blood, she still loved him nonetheless. The kid hadn't asked to be caught up in all this kidnap and blackmail insanity, nor any kind of custody court drama; and thank God it never came to that. She'd seen it in the papers, all those rich white families who were too stupid and lazy to fight for their relationships, dragging their kids through hell and forcing them to choose who they loved more, only to discover afterwards their kids resented them because of it. She kissed Marcus on the forehead and murmured, "Bet you're glad Papa and your Mamas are smart, huh?"

If Dom had his way, none of them would ever see the inside of a court room again, for any reason. Unless worst came to worst, Hobbs and Nobody were always a phone call away, and the Dominican Republic wasn't far either.

After pouring him a bowl of cereal and sitting him in his highchair, Letty put his favourite morning cartoons on and got herself a bowl too. With what lay ahead of them today, she'd need all her energy just to be able to stand there and listen as Hobbs once again put the weight on their shoulders. Dragging them into his and Nobody's dramas again? No, she was sick of this, sick of all of it. Why couldn't Dom have just called and said no, said he wasn't putting his wife and child in harm's way; told them he wouldn't be risking his life again for someone who claimed to have his best interests at heart yet repeatedly put him on death's doorstep every time Dom helped him without fail.

She sank into the couch and sighed, bowl in one hand and spoon in her mouth. Hair unbrushed and day old clothes stained with grease, she glanced at Marcus and smiled to herself. The days when he wasn't here, everything was quiet and peaceful, they fixed cars and worked in the reopened cafe serving not-so-crappy tuna sandwiches. One day, Dom came home and said the neighbours _loved_ Marcus. He couldn't get to Harry's without someone going gaga over the kid and pointing out just how much Marcus looked like his father.

The days when he was physically present in their lives, however, were a mad balancing act between excitement and work.

"Momma."

"Wh—" Letty rolled her eyes at the sight of Marcus with a trail of milk down his top. Luckily neither of them had gotten cleaned up yet. It was easier to hold off on showers and baths till after breakfast, given he was yet to learn how to wield a spoon properly. He'd get the hang of it this year, Elena said, and maybe Dom would learn how to say 'no' to Hobbs too. "We'll deal with that later."

And she did. By the time Dom woke, looking a little worse for wear, Letty had cleaned herself and Marcus up and taken him across the street to Mia and Brian's house. She left a note on the table saying as much, along with a promise that everything would be okay. God help her, Letty would be the one in charge of the team this time, not Dom. He, Elena, and Marcus were the ones in need of protection from Cipher and her ilk.

Jack and Marcus chased each other around the house, albeit slowly. Marcus could only walk so fast without losing his balance. And Sophie, well, she had much more interesting things to do than run around the house. There were cupboards not investigated and beds she'd not yet hidden beneath; she'd also discovered a door left open that was normally her proverbial undefeated Goliath.

She was the spitting image of her mom too, with dark brown hair and those warm Toretto eyes that lit up at the sight of a muscle car. Sophie hadn't yet decided whether crashing cars _into_ dolls or masterminding car wrecks in her room was more fun, but in the end it didn't matter for her. It all led to a pile of adventure on the carpet of her and Jack's room, one which she could partake in.

Dom wandered across the road after he woke to find the house empty and Letty's note on the table. Brian and Mia were sitting on the front step, and Letty was now chasing all three kids around the yard. Marcus waved but kept walking till at last he tripped and faceplanted the grass only to push himself up and begin giggling. Dom just smiled, crouched on the lawn, and opened his arms wide so Marcus could run into them if he wanted to.

"Papa!"

He grunted and fell back onto the grass when Marcus jumped on him. With the warmth of the sun on his face and a large toddler clambering up his chest, Dom felt more relaxed and at ease than he had all night. His son would be safe with Elena, he told himself, he had no doubts about her capability to protect Marcus but still he worried about her.

"You ready to go home?"

"Here." Marcus patted Dom's chest. He'd picked up a few more words over the past two weeks, enough that it seemed like he truly did understand what everyone was saying. "Home."

"I know, but Papa's gotta go drive cars." He sighed and reached up to pat Marcus's hair down as it was blown every which way by the wind. It didn't take long before Letty decided to join him on the grass and Dom found his head lifted into her lap. To some it probably seemed like a small gesture, but Letty knew how significant it was to Dom. Throughout all their years, he'd been the one to lift her, till Mexico. Then she chose to combine her weight with his and somehow carried them both, hoping that would've been their last encounter with the law, and solidifying further the level of his respect that she already had. "And Mama would kill me if I left you here alone."

 _You're not wrong about that,_ she thought. Letty waved when she saw Elena in her small Nissan pull into their driveway with Marcus's seat in the back. Finally, the combination of fear and impatience that had been weighing her down since she found the note could be lifted off her chest. Before Cipher's interference in their lives, Letty might've found herself resenting what'd happened between Dom and Elena; it was fortunate then she'd felt the pain of loss and fear come Dom's sudden betrayal, and found herself understanding how much someone could need the emotional support provided by a sympathetic ear. "Should I talk to her, or do you want to do it?"

Dom lifted his head from her lap and sat upright. "This involves all of us now," he said, passing Marcus to Letty so he could get to his feet. Dom helped her up and walked over to their house with Marcus and Letty in tow. "I—" He was weak when it came to her. Dom was brave enough to admit that now. She was the most important person in his life and he couldn't lose her again. "I need you with me on this, Letty."

"You know I'll ride with you." She squeezed his free hand and smiled. "Because I'm not ready to die, you got that?"

* * *

He said nothing to any of them once things calmed down, not even Eric. Shaw separated herself from her brothers, and Deckard and Owen went outside to 'talk'. Luke found himself a canvas seat and slumped down on the netting, groaned and stretched his arms, and waited for their ride to arrive. Now that the wild goose chase was over, they could get down to business and start hunting Cipher.

For him, the last two months had been a combination of restlessness and exhaustion. With the help of a dozen mechanics and welders, Luke had pulled his car apart and enhanced it. As to whether it would hold up on the road, well, the proof was in the pudding. A newly reinforced Gurkha with runflat inserts, a protected chassis, and bulletproof windows, designed to take a hit from an RPG and keep on going, awaited him at the Toy Shop.

Once he was given an ice pack for the swelling, Eric made the call to Mr. Nobody and told him they were ready for pickup. Seated on the stairs that led to the second floor of the plane, things kept on ticking over in his head and all the pieces invariably fell apart the moment he tried connecting them. It wasn't viable to have Owen in the same room as Dom and Letty, Hobbs and their history made that clear, but he was also their meal ticket. Elizabeth had proved unwilling to play ball without the gun to his head, and Owen seemed uninterested by the righteous aspect of the mission.

Now he understood how the Shaws had gone rogue so easily. Owen was the glue that precariously held the trio together. Without him present, they would drift apart and go their separate ways. Elizabeth had shown no inclination to follow Deckard's command without incentive, nor any unwavering loyalty. He'd seen how she gravitated towards Owen, and upon hearing Hobbs' recount of how willing Deckard was to kill Toretto, Eric finally understood _Owen_ was the family's linchpin.

From a distance it made no sense, but given time and experience, he would catch on. The next few months would give him more than enough insight into the family and its inner workings, provided he survived them. Deckard was the eldest, the one keeping them in line, so it felt natural to assume he was at the center. To find Owen there instead was a surprise. It was one Eric should've seen coming after reading their files, but somehow it slipped his notice. The ops team had also chosen to save themselves the embarrassment of informing him of what'd taken place when they picked the Shaws up. He hadn't asked and they weren't willing to tell anyone bar a nonjudgmental Hobbs.

"So what happens now, Fed?" Elizabeth said, breaking the silence that'd taken over the plane. Once Owen had gone outside, she'd moved to sit in the doorway of the SUV. That prayer to St. Dismus would have to wait. Her brothers not being within line of sight had left her on edge and Reisner's threats hadn't gone unheard. The fortunate thing was Hobbs' presence: he was more intimidating and ruthless than any of them. "You say 'jump' and I say 'how high, sir?'"

"Something like that." Luke fiddled with the strap that secured his revolver, clasping and unclasping it, running his fingers over the butt and trigger guard. Thankfully Mr. Nobody had said he'd arrive soon with three cars for transport of the assault team and themselves. "Who funded your life in Cuba? Two and a half years: that's a long time to go without a connect to the mob."

She shrugged. It was Cipher, she assumed. Elizabeth didn't know. She'd chosen not to ask and whomever it was never revealed themselves. Cipher seemed like the obvious answer, given she'd thrown eighteen months of her life away so the woman could get her device — till Owen fucked it all up and lost that billion dollar payout. It felt right when she thought about. Elizabeth took a dive and left Cipher indebted to her, then she freed Elizabeth from prison, supported her for a few years and repaid said debt. "I don't know."

"You're lying."

"I did eighteen months because you couldn't even manage something as simple as doing your fucking job," Elizabeth snapped. Her a liar? She couldn't tell him something she didn't know. In two and a half years, no one had ever owned up to being her benefactor, Cipher included. Being in the dark about something that was altogether unimportant in the long run didn't faze her. "I wake up one day and get escorted to a meeting room. There's a lawyer standing on the other side of the barrier and they tell me there's been a paperwork mishap, that I can finally leave. When freedom knocks, you don't ask questions."

He didn't need to know how bad things had gotten. Hell, none of this was his business either. It successfully shut Hobbs up, however. At least she thought it had. He stared at her from his seat, badge now gripped tight in his hands and sat there with a predatory stillness about him. Elizabeth stared back, teeth grit and eyes ablaze with anger. If he wanted to hear it, she'd tear him a new one and send his arse back to whatever secret government lab he'd been born in.

"I was there because I was doing my job." Hobbs shook his head in disgust and stood. Someone had a temper and it certainly wasn't him. How the four of them were expected to work together and function as a coherent team seemed more and more like an impossible feat with each passing minute. It'd been on Mr. Nobody's insistence that they go to Cuba in the first place; given their poor odds of success, it felt right to come up empty-handed. "You could've flipped and ended it before he got on that plane. We would've taken Owen down and stopped Cipher before it even came to this."

Of course it was on her. He'd been the one wasting his time in Russia, knowing full well the odds of her becoming a traitor were slim to none, yet Hobbs had insisted on going after her instead of Owen. "And then you went after my brother and 'did your job' again, and this time you _murdered_ my friend. She died alone in a ditch and you're the bastard that put her there!"

It would've come out eventually. All the pain, the anger; the explosion that came with bottling up her emotions. She'd taken to laying on the floor of the SUV for the duration of the flight so her brothers wouldn't notice her bottom lip trembling, or her reddened eyes. And it'd worked. Her feigned apathy and acceptance had kept the façade up long enough for her to make it to their destination without falling apart. It'd taken Owen all of two minutes to tell her the who, what, and how, of Riley's death, but it would take her far longer than that to process and grieve.

Luke frowned when she walked away with the last word. He'd killed her friend? More than one life had been lost in the process of catching the Shaws. It wasn't as if the faces of those he killed became lodged in his mind; after the first few times Luke found himself confronted with death as a part of his job, he began to realise the faces blurred together. Only some stood out, not counting the losses he'd experienced himself. If she expected him to be able to remember every death that could possibly be laid at his feet, they'd be here till sunset.

"What did you tell her while I was asleep?" Deckard said, looking towards the plane. It wasn't hard to hear the rage in her voice, or the heavy footsteps that followed. She stormed down the ramp and past them, eyes welling with tears and fists clenched. For a moment there was even a pang of sympathy in his chest as he shoved his fists in his pockets and resisted the urge to smack his brother upside the head. "Jesus, Owen, you told her about Spain, didn't you?"

"It was either that or play twenty questions." He knew how to manipulate her, which buttons to push so she'd think with her heart instead of her head. Her penchant for logic and rationality were a problem when Owen needed her pissed off and ready for war. Isolating her was merely the fastest way of getting her in that desired state of mind. "If I didn't tell her, she'd never be able to focus. She'd sit there thinking about going back instead of the here and now, and she'd leave a hundred voicemails on Riley's cell wondering where she is."

"I thought you said Ortiz did it," Deckard hissed. This was the last thing they needed. If she walked away now, they'd be a man down and he didn't want to be spending a week finding someone with the same skill set. "Did you even think about it before you—"

"Same difference." He wasn't in the mood to argue semantics. Not with Beth, and certainly not with Deckard. All Owen wanted was to get this ridiculous mission over and done with and return to London before they realised his offshore bank accounts were brimming with cash. "He gave her the weapon and Letty fired it. Hobbs was as much involved as anyone."

"And what if she leaves?"

"She won't."

That's what he thought. Deckard had seen her walk away plenty of times. The morning of her eighteenth birthday, she'd gotten on that plane to Russia and never looked back; why did Owen think the result of this would be any different? "I wouldn't be so sure of that. Now you can go be the sympathetic ear and caring brother while I tell Hobbs you just potentially screwed the mission before it's even begun."

 _Or_ they could sit back and watch the fireworks. Keeping a divide in place could only work in his favour. Feds vs. criminals, the British versus the Americans: so long as someone was given enemies to fight against, or perceived an enemy in some form or another, they had focus and drive. Take that away and most people became aimless spectators on the sidelines, imbeciles who only got in the way. Given her lack of military experience and training, Owen didn't want to see her become one of the liabilities he'd find himself ready to discard at a moment's notice.

"Deckard, you wanna tell me what the hell that was about?" Luke said, walking down the ramp with Eric. He'd called Nobody again and found out the cars were only a few minutes away, which meant it was time to start getting their shit together and play happy families. "Is she going to be a problem or can you get a handle on her?"

"I'll sort it, Hobbs," Deckard said, giving Owen an 'I'll deal with you later' look. "You just worry about selling this plan to Toretto."


End file.
